


Retirement

by amukmuk



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Family Fluff, Fluff, Mild hunting scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 44,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amukmuk/pseuds/amukmuk
Summary: Din Djarin returns home. He has found and deposited his son to the Jedi in hopes that they can provide a better life for him. Now, he returns to Sorgan as an old man, ready to retire and farm some krill.
Relationships: Mandomera - Relationship, Omera & Winta (Star Wars), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Winta (Star Wars), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Omera (Star Wars), Winta/Original Character - Havi
Comments: 436
Kudos: 262





	1. Chapter 1

The air is thick with humidity as he walks from his ship parked in the outskirts into town. His joints ache and his feet howl with exertion, but none of this compares to the way his heart is racing. Without the digital filter of his helmet, the green brush of Sorgan takes on a strange familiarity – but then again it could also be the near decade that has passed that has caused things to look ever so slightly different.

Upon arriving into town, it doesn’t take him long to find the cantina and settle in at the bar. Pulling the stool underneath him, his feet sigh with relief, and he can’t help but do the same. Truthfully, he’s getting old. His life has been arduous, and he is more than ready to settle down.

“Can I get you anything?” The bartender, a large, portly man, asks while drying of a glass with a thin, light green rag.

His automatic response is to say no, but he catches himself. “One spotchka, please.”

“You got it,” the bartender nods.

He turns and observes the atmosphere of the cantina. People are gathered, laughing and joking. In the far corner, someone is playing a guitar and a group of younglings – around 18 years old, he guesses – are dancing cheerfully. One girl though, catches his attention because she looks so _familiar_ , her dark hair flows down her back in fluffy ringlets, her brown eyes sparkle with happiness, and the smile that bursts across her face reminds him so painstakingly of Omera that he can only conclude that she is her daughter. She is being twirled around the dance floor by a young man, who is looking at her like he is in love and he can’t help but think that he understands the pain. Loving someone is both the most magical and painful thing that a human being can experience.

When the song comes to a bouncing end, she steals away from the boy’s grasp to come up to the bar. He quickly turns his head away, just as the bartender sets his drink down.

“Anything else?”

“Do you have any rooms available?”

“Sorry pal, it’s harvest fest we are all booked up. You might have some luck at one of the neighboring villages.”

He nods in response and the bartender turns to the young woman sitting next to him now, sweat glistening on her brow.

“Two spotchkas please.”

Was she even old enough to drink?

 _Stars_ , he really was getting old.

The young woman eyes him and clears her throat as if to get his attention, he glances her way. “I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but… did you say you’re looking for a place to stay?”

“I am,” he answered with a subtle nod.

She is scrutinizing his face, as if trying to place him from some distant memory and she says, “My mom has a guest room… It’s in her barn, but I’m sure she would be happy to loan it to you.”

His heart pounds in his ears and he can hardly hear himself speak when he says, “That… would be very nice.”

“Winta,” she holds out her hand.

Shaking her hand, he says, “Din.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together, still trying to connect him to the faint tickle of a childhood memory deep within her mind. The bartender places her drink in front of her with a grunt and she asks, “Have you ever been to Sorgan?”

She takes a sip of her drink and winces as the alcohol burns down her throat.

“Once before, a long time ago,” he takes a long sip from his drink and doesn’t wince, because he’s well past fifty and he doesn’t even feel the burn of liquor anymore.

Her friends call her over from the corner – clearly not done celebrating this evening – she eyes him up and down quickly and blurts, “Look, if you’re okay with waiting… my friends and I will give you a ride to the village, we have a land speeder just around the corner.”

He simply nods in response.

She scrunches her nose before the boy comes and tugs on her arm, pulling her back to the dance floor with her friends. While she dances, there is only one thought pulsing through her mind.

There is something oddly familiar about that man.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the first chapter :)

A couple hours later and he’s in the back of the land speeder with a bunch of teenagers and he can’t help but roll his eyes at the hilarity of it all. Here he is, taking a leap of faith – or blind stupidity – to visit a woman he hasn’t seen in _years_ , there’s no telling what could happen. She could be married for all he knows.

She could be married.

The pang that impales his gut makes him nauseous. He has nothing left now. His son has been passed off to the Jedi with promises that they will teach him how to use his gifts for good. He’s far too old to continue The Way, his joints scream in pain and he’s had no choice to reveal himself and live out his life as an old man.

If this half-baked plan works, hopefully he will be a _happy_ old man, but the twisting in his gut is not encouraging any optimistic thoughts.

With the way the kid is driving the speeder – erratically and far too fast for how dark it is – they make it to the village in half the time Din remembers it taking when he first travelled here. The teenagers pile out of the back of the speeder, each running off to their perspective homes and one couple into the coverage of the forest.

Ah, youth.

Winta starts walking then turns to look back at her guest and nods for him to follow her. He has fought imperial officers, storm troopers, vicious bounty hunters, and one very, very angry mudhorn, but the courage that he has to muster to follow the young woman is more than he’s ever needed for any of the aforementioned encounters.

Casually, Winta breezes into her house and calls, “Mama, I have a guest that needs to stay in the barn!”

When she emerges from the other room, wiping her hands on her smock, Din nearly falls over. She is absolutely breathtaking; her almond eyes are framed in delicate wrinkles, her temples sprinkled with grey. He knows that he is staring – he’s still getting used to people seeing his face – but just can’t bear to look away. He’s afraid that if he blinks, he’ll wake up from this dream and he’ll be drifting through space, cold and alone, again.

“Hello,” she smiles warmly. Her voice is just as he remembers it, like a babbling brook on a warm summer day.

“Hi,” he chokes.

Her smile wavers for a split second, “I’ll show you to your room?” She says, but the hesitance in her voice colors it as a question.

He nods and turns to let her step past him out the door. She hesitates, now clearly staring at him; then as if shaking the thought from her head, she exits, and he follows. Winta observes them, that same memory vaguely tickling her.

_No, there’s no way._

Outside, the couple walks around her hut to her barn where she had set up a guest room nearly a decade ago. Omera strolls with him in silence, but she doesn’t feel awkward or strange. She does, however, feel a whisper of possibility in the back of her mind that she desperately tries to stomp down before it catches her body aflame like a wildfire. But its just… The way he walks has a confident swagger that she’s seen before, but there’s no way.

Upon entering the barn, she stands by the doorway, eyeing him as he looks around. He’s terribly handsome, she notes, his curly brown locks are endearingly disheveled, like someone who just isn’t sure how to do their own hair but tried anyway. “I’m sorry it’s not much,” she says, straightening her back.

His long fingers brush along the crib and he sighs, but not in displeasure. “It’s perfect. Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice incredibly soft.

She can’t help it, but she steps forward and away from the door. “Do you… do you have any children?”

His head snaps up, his dark brown eyes meeting hers. “I have a son… but he… he found his way,” he looks back down at the crib and nearly whispers. “He doesn’t need me anymore.”

She steps closer yet, feeling drawn into him. “People we love have a way of coming back to us,” she was almost certain… The sigh. The swagger. The blaster reverently attached to his hip.

His eyes meet hers once more and his head cocks to the side, and now she knows for certain. Only one man she has ever known would look at her that way, with that oh so familiar head tilt. “What,” he pauses, his brow crinkling as he struggles to put his words together. “Would you…” he trails off and looks down at his hands, firmly gripping the wood of the crib.

“If someone I loved came back,” she murmurs, “I could never turn them away.”

He sighs, but keeps his head pointed down.

“Especially you, Mando.”

His head snaps up, his eyes wide with shock. They stare at each other for a flittering second and he rasps, “Din, my name is Din.”

She dares to step even closer, breaths and mere self-control separating them, “Welcome home, Din.”

He can’t help it as a smile erupts on his face. She takes up his hands, warm and calloused, and pulls them to her lips, kissing his knuckles. He turns his hands over in hers so that he is cupping her face and her hands are gently placed over his, and he is reminded of the time he left her.

That will never be happening, ever again.

He strokes her cheeks with his thumbs. Her skin is impossibly smooth, he can hardly believe that she is real. “I… I’ve missed you,” he whispers.

She beams, tears springing to her eyes. “I’ve missed you too.”

And with that, she pushes herself up onto her tiptoes and gently presses her lips against his. With this simple, chaste kiss, he realizes that he could happily spend the rest of his life farming krill if he gets to come home and kiss her every night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all like it :) I've never written anything relating to star wars so... bear with me if there are any terrible inaccuracies. I will do my best!


	3. Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after Din returns home, Winta needs to ensure that no feelings will be hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes directly after chapter two chronologically.

Winta can hardly believe its him when her mother tells her. They are out in the krill ponds, waist-high in water while they scoop for the little blue creatures. “So…” Winta begins, resting her basket on her hip and wiping her forehead with her free hand. “Are you going to tell me about last night?”

“Hmm?” Omera hums sheepishly.

“Mom,” Winta stares down the elder version of herself, they could be twins if it weren’t for her father’s nose that she proudly wears. “You didn’t come back inside last night.”

Normally, she wouldn’t care what her mother was doing, but there is something about that man, Din was his name. She feels in her gut that he’s the Mandalorian, but he doesn’t have the green child with him, plus she distinctly remembers that he _always_ wore the metal suit. Din looks about the same age as her mother, his hair is ever so slightly grey at the temples, and his soft brown eyes crinkle at the corners just like her mom’s. Even if he isn’t the vague memory of the man in metal, she just wants her mom to be happy and considering she never came back from the barn last night she’s assuming her mom must have been _very_ happy last night.

Her mother wades to the edge of the pond. “Let’s go for a walk,” she says simply, as she steps out of the water. Her dark green dress clings to her slender frame, the water dripping off it in steady streams. Bending at her waist, she lends a hand to her daughter and she lifts from the pool.

She may be old, but that doesn’t mean she is any less strong.

Winta follows her mother through the paths in between the ponds and once they are out of earshot of the other villagers – both women are well acquainted with their love for gossip – Omera says, “Do you remember the Mandalorian?”

Winta’s breath catches in her lungs, “Yes?”

Omera looks at her feet as she continues walking, “He is the man. Din Djarin, he is the Mandalorian. He… He’s decided that he would like to stay.”

“Permanently?” Winta gasps, her mind is reeling, it all makes sense now. The body language, the dark, worn clothing.

Omera nods, “From what I understand, yes.”

“Where? The boy-”

“He has been returned to his people.”

Winta’s heart fell. In the weeks that the Mandalorian and his friend stayed, she had grown so attached to the little green thing. He had a love for frogs, he loved catching them, eating them… whole. She had always dreamed that one day, the Mandalorian would return – clad in his armor – and bring the young boy so that they could live the rest of their lives together.

She guesses that some dreams are only just fairytales.

Coming back to the conversation presently occurring, Winta asks, “So… last night?”

Omera chuckles, “We mostly sat up all night talking. So much has happened.”

“Mom. Please tell me you kissed him.”

She blushes.

“MOM.”

“Okay, okay… I may have… kissed him, and it was nice.”

Tears spring up into her eyes and she throws her arms around her mother, squeezing her tight and burying her face in her hair. “I’m so happy you’re happy momma.”

“Baby, I’ve always been happy,” she smooths down her daughter’s wild curls.

Winta pulls away and looks at her mom, “I know… but… Now… you’re just a little happier, ya know?”

Omera smiles and pulls her daughter close as they walk through the krill ponds and back to work.

That night after dinner, Winta goes out to the barn. She stands at the bottom of the steps, contemplating going in, talking to him. Now that she knows who he is, her bravado is lackluster at best. Before, he had always been so intimidating, and now those childhood emotions are whirling in the pit of her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she darts up the stairs two steps at a time and when she gets to the door – which was propped open for airflow – she can hardly get a word out before Din has his blaster drawn, aimed directly at her.

She squeals and is reminded of the first time she ever met him, how she hid behind her mother’s skirt.

As fast as the blaster is drawn it is put away and he is apologizing, “Winta – I’m so sorry.”

“I’s okay,” she has her over her chest, trying to catch her breath. “Old habits die hard, I imagine.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I was hoping you had a second… to talk,” Winta says, clutching her dress. The faded purple fabric is coarse from being wet with pond water and then drying.

“Sure,” he answers, moving in a way that he hopes looks welcoming of conversation.

“Thanks,” she enters and sits tensely upon an old crate. Absent mindedly she thinks the crate was probably once his, from when he came the first time and left them with a crate of basic supplies just in case.

They sit in tense silence while she collects her thoughts. He doesn’t rush her, but he does glance over at her a couple times; she thinks maybe to make sure she was okay. She can see the remorse wafting off of him for scaring her. Finally, she musters up what little confidence she has and says, “I need to talk to you about my mother.”

He tilts his head to the side and her heart clenches; she can imagine the armor now. She sees it. He’s so much skinnier than she remembers him being, but at the same time, she thinks maybe she was just too young, and thought everything was big.

“I… need to make sure that…” she stares at her hands. “I need to make sure that you aren’t going to leave her again,” she blurts, the words flowing out of her mouth rapidly.

His facial features flash with what Winta could only describe as fear, but she quickly scratches that thought. The Mandalorian? A hardened warrior scared of some 18-year old krill farmer? Yeah right.

He works his bottom lip with teeth as he slowly contemplates her answer. But she’s growing upset that his answer isn’t instantaneously no, she wants to yell – to scream that he’s left them once before and she’s not sure that her mom could take it again. She wants to yell that she had seen his ship fly over their village, and he didn’t even consider stopping to say hello. She never saw her mother cry after the Mandalorian and his small green child left, but she also saw her smile a lot less.

“I…” he starts, then scrunches his eyebrows together. “I have no intentions of leaving…” he speaks softly, his voice even – or as even as he could manage. “But… I can only promise to stay as long as your mother plans on having me… I… I won’t force her into something she doesn’t want.”

Winta is almost shocked by his answer. Her mouth hits the floor, “Why would she ever ask you to leave?” she breathes.

He tilts his head. “I’m not good at this,” he confesses plainly. She expects him to continue, to offer up an insight as to _why_ he isn’t good at this, but he doesn’t. He, instead, looks pointedly at his boots.

She feels terrible for assuming that he would leave _again_. She feels terrible that he would understand what it’s like to be human when he’s been clad in metal his entire life, but she reminds herself that this is to protect her mother. “Please don’t hurt her,” she whispers as she stands.

The Mandalorian – Din – she corrects herself rises to match her; he stands so much taller than her that she is reminded why she thought he was massive when she was younger. “I will try.”

He doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t keep. He’s never loved anyone like he loves Omera and he’s painfully aware that he will probably make mistakes, a lot of them. He hopes that his words convey those emotions to the young girl, and he thinks that they might because she gives him a tender smile and goes to leave. When she reaches the door though, she pauses and, looking over her shoulder, she says, “I’m glad you came back.”

And she disappears into the evening stars, her dark hair camouflaging her with the darkness.


	4. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omera and Din spend the night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was going to try and keep it to one update a week, but I have no self control. I hope y'all enjoy! 
> 
> Also, this chapter takes place before chapter three!

That night, the night that Omera doesn’t return home and her barn regains its occupant, they stay up all night talking. Yes, they had kissed, but it was so genuine and so pure that they part without much heat and sit together catching up like childhood friends seeing each other after a lifetime.

And in a way, it feels like a lifetime has passed.

They start with the easy questions, how have they been because its easy to simply say ‘well’, a one-word answer that doesn’t reveal anything, but then the conversation moves to how Din got here on Sorgan.

He answers simply that he flew the Razor Crest, of course, and when Omera smiles, he wants to tell her a joke every day. He will turn into a regular court jester just to see her smile like that. He tells her that he’s been through a lot, that his life has changed and that she hopes she can accept him as what he is.

An ex-bounty hunter with so many confirmed kills that sometimes it worries him why he can sleep so well at night.

She says that she has no problem accepting him for _who_ he is.

An honorable man who loves his family, who will go to the ends of the galaxy to help someone in need, who is always grateful, kind, and polite.

His chest seizes when she tells him this and he’s amazed that she sees a man instead of a monster, a warrior, a _machine_. She gently takes his hand into her hers, smoothing her thumb across his knuckles. The warm glow in her eyes sets his soul at ease and she says that not much has changed for her, really.

Sorgan is Sorgan. Her village has grown a little over the years, new younglings teeter around and she talks about how it makes her heart happy seeing happy, young faces. She laughs when she says she can’t wait for grandchildren of her own just so that she can have a valid reason to pinch someone’s cheeks, but then in a serious note she says she never wants to pressure Winta into a life she may not want.

He doesn’t know it that night, watching the dim lights illuminate her features in a soft, golden glow, but he will echo her words to her daughter the following evening.

But when he hears her talk about grandchildren, he can see it so clearly. She would beam, bouncing a little bundle on her knee. She would play with them on the ground. She would teach them to walk, to run. She would tuck them in tightly and kiss them on their nose. Then, his heart feels like it’s breaking because the little children in his temporary daydream become _his_ son. His foundling. The reason he lived and breathed for so long.

Eventually, she asks. She asks him what happened to his son. When she sees the pain in his expression, she fears the worse. She half expects him to tell a soul-crushing tale of his death. Instead, he recounts the tale of finding his people. Din can’t remember the last time he talked this much, but it feels good to get it off his chest. He pours his soul to her, knowing that without a shadow of a doubt that she will capture every drop and protect it. And when the words no longer come and tears sting his eyes, she pulls him close, holding his head firmly against her chest. She doesn’t say anything because there are truly no words that can ease the loss of a child, but her presence provides him with a warmth he hasn’t felt in _ages_ and he pulls her closer yet.

They fall asleep, knowing peace.


	5. Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing to see here but idle threats and shameless fluff.

“Stand still,” she scolds.

“I _am_ standing still,” Din sighs, his arms straight out from his shoulders.

“Well then stand _stiller_ ,” she grumbles, wrapping the tape measure around his waist. He’s too skinny, Omera notes, deciding in that moment that she will make sure he gets an extra helping of meat at dinner tonight.

Din just sighs and she looks up at him.

“You can’t very well farm in your heavy blaster-proof gear.”

“No?” He asks playfully, letting his arms sag so that she glares at him.

“No. You’ll overheat and keel over and I will _not_ be fishing you out of a krill pond because you were too stubborn to sit _still_ and let me make you new clothes.” She writes down the measurement and, pulling up her stool, takes a seat in front of him so that she can measure his legs and hips.

A smirk rises to his lips and, correcting his posture, he looks straight ahead and mutters, mostly to himself, “I would fish you out of a krill pond.”

She slaps him gently and he catches her arm, pulling her up from her stool so that they are face to face. He doesn’t have his boots on, and they are nearly the same height. She looks deeply into his dark eyes and murmurs, “You know what I’m talking about.” 

It’s unfair how beautiful she is, really. Tilting his head, he smirks, “I think… that if I irritate you enough, you may actually leave me in a pond.”

Her chest flutters with butterflies, she never thought she could feel this way again, but with the warmth of his hand around her wrist, she can hardly focus on anything but his lips. “Mmm… I would never be so cruel.”

“No?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I have my suspicions.”

She smiles and with an act of pure, unabashed bravery, she says, “Well, I _would_ like to help you out of those clothes.”

He chokes. His eyes widen with shock as she takes another vertigo-inducing step forward. She tilts her head up so that their noses are grazing each other, dancing around kissing. She’s absolutely intoxicated. Every atom in her body is vibrating at his proximity, and she so desperately wants him to kiss her. She nudges his nose with hers once more and he dips his chin down to her lips.

The butterflies in her stomach transform into molten lava and she feels warm all the way to her toes. How is it, that he’s been here less than a week and she is so, unequivocally in love with him?

“Hey, Mama, have you seen?” Winta breezes through the front door and abruptly stops upon seeing the two adults practically falling away from each other.

Din has turned completely around, his hand clutching the nape of his neck and Omera is smoothing her frock even though it hasn’t been rumpled. “Have I seen what, baby?” she rasps.

“Nothing… I… forgot what I was looking for,” she lies, and rushes back out the door.

Omera sighs and slouches. Din stands, staring at the wall, his entire body rigid.

“I’m sorry, I overstepped,” she says.

Din turns around and smirks bashfully. “No, its okay. I…” he swallows. “I feel a little like the teenagers I rode into town with.”

She smiles. “Is that so?”

He steps toward her. “Yeah… I just want some privacy to kiss a beautiful woman.”

Omera blushes, takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom, the tape measure and fabric long forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If y'all have any prompts that you would like to see, please comment or hit me up on tumblr at @amukmuk :) Thanks for reading!


	6. Horseplay

At first, Winta was nervous about the Mandalorian – Din, she reminds herself – returning. But, after a few weeks, she can’t help but be happy. Her mother is radiant and the way he looks at her… _Stars_ , she could only be so lucky to find a love so pure. It is obvious how much they love each other. Just now, they are standing in a pond; her mother is laughing, clutching her side with the arm not holding the basket and Din is just simply _beaming_ at her. He says something else, his lips twisted with a playful grin and she throws her head back with laughter before splashing him.

He reels back with an eyebrow quirked, and she laughs harder, her face turning pink with exertion. He splashes her back and her lips form a shocked “o”, but only for a moment. Now, the war is _on._

The two – fully _grown_ – adults are frolicking around a krill pond like _children_ and she can’t help but grin at the site.

Omera is splashing Din, trying to keep him at bay, but – already soaked from head to toe – he rushes towards her and snatches her wrists mid splash. She squeals at the sudden capture – a sound Winta hasn’t heard in… well, she’s not certain if she’s ever heard such a joyous sound from her mother’s lips – but she quickly melts into his arms, defeat _almost_ a sweet reward.

He leans in like he’s about to kiss her and Winta almost averts her eyes when he dunks her instead. She thrashes with protest and – while Winta can’t see their feet – she assumes that her mom took out his knee because he falls on top of her.

When their heads bob back above the water, Din looks like he could explode with adoration. After all, as a lifelong warrior, what is better than being bested by a beautiful woman in combat?

Omera grabs both sides of his face and gently presses her lips to his.

Winta looks back at the basket she was mending before she was distracted by the spectacle. Yeah, she’s happy he is back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I might post another one just cuz this one shot is so short. Thank you all for reading! <3


	7. Hair Cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind comments. They keep me going <3 I like writing short little blurps, so if you have a prompt, send it my way!

Din is sitting on the porch doing his best to mend a broken basket, but his hair keeps falling in his face. He blows it out of his eyes with a huff, but it stubbornly returns to its inconvenient resting place. His hands are wrapped up in the weaving and he knows that if he lets go to remove this rebellious strand of hair, he will lose all of his progress.

Walking up to the barn to relish in the shade, Omera can’t help but to smile warmly at him. Sitting like that, he’s simply adorable. His legs are folded out in front of him and he is hunched over the mangled basket, his face twisted with concentration and his unruly locks defiantly hiding his eyes. “You need a haircut,” she comments, plopping next to him.

“Yeah,” he sighs, straightening his back and causing a few cracks and snaps.

“Here,” she offers to take the damaged basket and he gently hands it to her. Her slender fingers move expertly across it and he’s amazed. In a few brief moments, she is handing the basket back to him as good as new.

“I still have a lot to learn,” he exhales.

“Practice makes perfect.”

A few beats of silence pass comfortably between them, the grass rustling in the breeze. “After dinner tonight,” Omera begins, “I can cut your hair if you would like.”

He turns is head to look at her and a smile creeps to his lips, “That would be very nice.”

True to her word, after dinner, Din is seated in a hard-back chair in front of the kitchen sink. She runs the water for a few moments and then murmurs, “Lean back.”

He pushes against the floor, causing the chair to balance on its back to legs and he rests his head against the cool metal of the sink.

Detaching the faucet head, Omera runs the water over his hair, “Is this too hot?”

“No,” he sighs and relaxes further into her hands, letting his eyes flutter shut.

His hair is surprisingly thick and soft. She takes some of her soap, hoping he wouldn’t mind smelling slightly flowery, and begins lathering his scalp. An audible moan escapes from between his parted lips and he blushes, opening his eyes. “Sorry,” he closes his eyes again as she scratches her blunt nails across his scalp. “It’s just…” he trails off as she moves and begins massaging his temples, which are dusted in grey.

“No one has ever done this before.”

“No,” he breathes.

She smiles. In this moment, he’s like putty in her hands. He is completely relaxed and a small part of her excites knowing that she is the one that can make him feel completely and utterly safe. “I figured as much,” she uses her thumbs and works the crown of his head, eliciting another moan. Languidly, she rinses the soap from his hair, running her fingers through his long locks. When the soap has been cleared, she sits him up and wraps a towel tightly around his shoulders.

He scoots his chair to the middle of the floor, and she picks up her sheers. Standing behind him, she works her hands through his hair – now that she’s started, she can’t stop – and she asks, “How short do you want it?”

He hesitates. Normally, he just kept it from becoming too unruly so that it would lay flat in the helmet. Now, he has no idea. “I don’t know,” he admits, and he doesn’t have to elaborate for her to understand that this is his first haircut that wasn’t self-performed. “Do whatever will make it not be a menace… I trust you,” he concludes.

The words fall between them with a heavier meaning than what was originally intended. He trusts her. Of course, she knew that, he speaks his soul to her, he lets her see him vulnerable. The words fill her with warmth and she so very desperately wants to respond with three different words, but carry the same meaning nonetheless. Instead, barely audible, she just whispers, “Okay.”

He nods and she begins snipping away at his hair. When the first tendril falls to the floor, she stops and stares at it for a split second. She cuts her and Winta’s hair all the time, but this feels different. Perhaps it is because it is the final shedding of his previous life. He has new clothes now, he goes by his given name, but his hair had been the last remembrance of the helmet. This hair cut would be to express himself, not to be hidden away.

She works her way around his head and eventually she’s facing him, finishing up the front and trimming his bangs.

He is watching her work, but she is too concentrated to notice. Her tongue is caught between her lips and her eyebrows are crinkled together, creating a fine crease in her forehead.

Stepping back, she checks her work one last time and, setting her sheers down, she says, “There.”

“Complete?”

She nods.

He raises his hands and, feeling his hair, he sighs with relief that it is no longer shaggy and a hazard to his field of vision. “Thank you… I feel like a new man.”

Omera smirks, “Do you like it?”

“Yes, it feels great.” He stands from the chair, keeping the towel on his shoulders so that he doesn’t spill more hair; it already looks like a small, furry creature has met its untimely death on her floor.

She beams and grabs the broom and begins sweeping it into a pile. “Here,” Din extends his hand to her, “Let me.”

She hands him the broom, but then reaches up and removes the towel from his shoulders so that she can shake it off outside. When she returns, he has finished sweeping and is putting the broom away in her closet.

“Thank you,” she smiles.

“No, thank you.”

They both pause for a moment, eyes locked on each other. The air is vibrating with their warmth for each other, but neither one wants to be the one to move first, to leave or kiss the other. Up until this point, their nights had been spent together but always parted by morning. He still keeps his things in the barn even though it feels like an inconvenience at this point.

“Well… Have a good night. Thanks again,” he goes to leave, and she whirls around.

“No! Stay!” She freezes and hastily adds, “If you’d like to.”

He takes a step from the door towards her, “Sure.”

She chews on the bottom of her lip and then says, “You can stay for more than just the night… If you would like.”

He nods once, hesitantly. “You… are you sure?”

Omera places her hand tentatively on his arm. “Din, I’ve never been surer of something in my life. Why… Why should you travel all this way to just sleep in my barn?”

He laughs and places his forehead on hers. “It is a nice barn.”

“Well in that case…”

She doesn’t have a chance to finish her sentence because Din’s lips are crashing into hers and they’re both smiling, which makes it so hard to keep kissing someone, but they can’t help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been my favorite little story so far <3 I hope you all enjoyed!


	8. Sleeping

The first night Din spends the night in Omera’s home, he lays on his back and she curls up on his chest. He absent-mindedly runs his fingers through her hair and eventually the both drift off asleep. That is until he hears something, and he bolts upright so fast that Omera nearly falls out of bed and he’s scrambling to get to his blaster on the bedside table.

“What is it?” She asks groggily.

They are both peering into the darkness of their room, the moons shine through the window, illuminating everything in a pale glow. He’s desperately wishing he had night vision, something he had grown so accustomed to with his helmet.

“Din?” She asks when he doesn’t respond.

“Nothing. It was nothing,” he shakes his head, but doesn’t put the blaster back on the table.

“Did you want to take a look around?” She’s looking at him now, fully prepared to perform a full-scale search of their house to set his bounty-hunter nerves at ease.

“No, no, go back to sleep.”

She pulls him down to bed with her and, with his blaster tucked by his side, he too drifts off asleep. Then the noise wakes him again and he flinches, blaster cocked at his waist. His heart is hammering in his chest, but he remains as still as he can manage so that he doesn’t awake the slumbering woman next to him.

The sound is coming from the slumbering beauty.

He looks down at her. Her mouth is just slightly ajar, and she snorts softly before she shifts and burrows even closer to him. He sighs, almost a chuckle and sets the blaster back on the bedside table. The only threat here is to a good night’s sleep. But, when he pulls her in tight, he finds himself being lulled to sleep by her heavy exhales. 

The second night Din sleeps in her bed, Omera is beside herself with just complete adoration. He sleeps on his back again – a habit, she assumes, he has picked up from sleeping in bulky armor for all those years – but she doesn’t mind because that means she can curl up in the crook between his shoulder and chest that seems to be made for her. Laying like this, their bodies click together, like they are two pieces of a puzzle that have finally been reunited.

That night, she can’t bring herself to fall asleep right away. Instead, she lays awake, studying all of the curves and lines of his face. For so long she has dreamed of he would look like, and seeing him now, it is everything and nothing she has imagined all rolled into one. When she first met him, she knew he had been older, simply by the way he carried himself. He had the confidence of a person who had seen everything and was terrified by none of it. She had imagined him to look menacing.

And who she’s looking at now is _soft_ , there isn’t a single menacing feature on his face. Even the sharp hook of his nose is endearing because it reminds her of how Winta has her father’s nose and she wonders if Din, too, has his own father’s nose.

The third night they sleep together, they sleep easily. Din absentmindedly runs his fingers through her hair until she begins to sigh heavily. Then, to the rhythm of her steady – albeit heavy – breathing, he drifts off.

And they are happy.


	9. Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din goes hunting. 
> 
> There is a wee bit of graphic violence depicted below. Ye be warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't certain about posting this lil tale, but I wanted some internal struggle. So... I'm sorry this one isn't totally mandomera centric; I kind of just jotted this down on my lunch break. 
> 
> However! Thank you all so much for the kudos and kind comments <3 I promise the next chapter will be fluffy and sappy and heartwarming!

Din takes a steadying breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth as he settles into his nest. It’s been a minute since he has laid, camouflaged, waiting for his prey with his rifle resting in his hands. But honestly, after the whole Mudhorn incident, he has learned it is better to lay and wait instead of charging into a beast’s den.

Not only this but laying in wait with his rifle is therapeutic. For about a week now, the village harvests have been terrorized by an oversized loth-cat and the villagers had finally had enough. And so, he offered his assistance as a sharpshooter and who were they to refuse?

Behind the brush, he hears a twig snap and the loth cat emerges, hungry for the trap he had laid. He settles into the butt of his rifle and peers down the scope.Truthfully, it is the largest loth cat he has ever seen. 

Sucking in another deep breath, he pulls the trigger. The explosion of the round firing sends birds flying out of the trees, squawking in terror. He looks down the scope to ensure that it’s no longer a threat and then he goes down to make sure it’s not laying there suffering.

By some short miracle, its alive and twitching, mewling in pain – clearly terrified. Quickly, he pulls out his vibroblade and puts it out of its misery. As the life fades from its eyes, Din can’t help but feel a sharp pang of guilt. Before, the helmet made everything appear so much colder. Living things had seemed less alive. Animals were easier to kill. And, the thing doing the killing was The Mandalorian, not Din Djarin.

Now, he is forced to realize how easily killing came to _him_. He sinks to his knees – his farmer’s clothing feeling more like a costume than his now everyday wear – as he looks at the consequences of his actions.

This is the way.

He’s still a hunter.

But no longer the prey.


	10. Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thievery is never a good idea.

It’s hot. It is hot, and he is winded, and he is wondering just _how_ he got roped into this.

Oh yes, that’s because the young woman parading in front of him has him wrapped around her finger. He’s not afraid to admit it. He never thought that he would be a good father, but his child had convinced him that he was capable of that years ago. When he returned to Sorgan, he never thought he could be the father to a _daughter_. A fierce young woman is, after all, the complete opposite of a helpless green bean. She is smart, capable, sassy, and oh, _stars,_ does he love her to pieces. He has never mentioned this to her or Omera though, but he has come to love Winta like his own, just as Omera had promised to do with his son a lifetime ago.

“You keepin’ up, old man?” Winta calls over her shoulder as she steps over a fallen tree.

Din sighs heavily. “Remind me again why you needed specifically _my_ help with this?”

She turns and stops, waiting for him to catch up. “Because it would be a great surprise for momma. Plus,” she starts walking again. “She makes _excellent_ honey bread. You will love it.”

He’s sure he will; there is not much that Omera cooks that he wouldn’t eat. As he stews on it for a minute, he concludes that there is nothing that she could cook that he wouldn’t eat. Not that she’s a bad cook, she’s a wonderfully excellent chef, but literally anything is better than the protein and ration bars he has survived off of since who knows when.

Winta stops and peers into the woods for a moment. “Just a little bit further.”

Din follows her and eventually they arrive at an elderly tree. Its circumference is massive, it would take at least four people with their arms outstretched to wrap all the way around the its trunk. He’s looking up at the canopy, admiring its breadth, when Winta snaps him from his reverie.

“Hmm?” He asks.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it? I think it’s probably one of the oldest trees in the woods,” Winta squats in front of it. “Which is probably why the bees chose to make this one their home.”

“Bees?” He asks, just now noticing the massive hive attached to the bark at knee level.

“Yes, bees. Where did you think we were going to get honey?”

He cocks his head to the side instead of dignifying that with a response and she rolls her eyes. “Hand me the pack,” she orders.

Shrugging it from his shoulders, he hands her the bag. She rummages through to find the flint, starter, and damp wicker while he rotates his shoulders, relishing in the pressure-relieving cracks. She sets the wicker down and strikes the flint and, after a few unsuccessful attempts, she huffs with frustration.

“Here, let me,” he murmurs.

She eyes him.

“You didn’t bring me all the way here to be your pack mule, hand me it.”

She can’t help it, but she smirks as she hands him her supplies. With hardly any effort at all, the wicker is smoldering, creating a thick stream of dark smoke.

“What do you intend to do with this?” He holds it just out of her reach when she goes to snatch it.

Curse him being so tall.

“I’m going to hold it at the mouth of the hive, smoke puts bees to sleep.”

“It doesn’t kill them?” He asks.

“No. Just knocks them out for a while.”

Now he eyes her, and she rolls her eyes again, motioning at him to just hand it over. With a sigh, he gives her the smoldering wicker and she holds it to the mouth of the hive.

“Are you sure this works?” He asks, he can hear the buzzing coming from the hive and it doesn’t sound like they are getting sleepy.

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes between them.

“At least I’m pretty sure.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Like 80 percent sure.”

“80 percent?”

“Yeah, _like_ 80 percent. Yeah. You never know if there will be… particularly resilient bees.”

He sighs, but sure enough the buzzing seems to be dying down.

She looks up at him and grins – a kind of grin that looks more mischievous than anything else. “Get a jar.”

He squats down and opens up a jar, waiting for her next order. She reaches into the hive and then immediately yanks her hand out. “Ouch!”

He arches an eyebrow at her.

“Just a resilient bee, is all.”

He nods once, slowly at her and she tries to put her hand back in the hive. “Fuck!” She jerks her hand back out, clutching it against her chest. “Ouch!”

He smirks and asks her, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No, but you do,” she quips, and he rolls his eyes.

He had cursed _once_. One _fucking_ time and –

He slaps the bee that stings his neck.

Winta scrambles up as a swarm of bees rushes out of the hive. Snatching his hand, she hauls him to his feet. “Run!” She yells and, when he gets stung two more times, he can’t help but sprint after her.

They barrel through the woods, jumping over fallen trees and roots – Winta much more gracefully than Din – and swatting at the angry occupants of the hive they had attempted to rob. As he runs, he is reminded of Cara and the one time they hauled through the woods, adrenaline fueling them for battle. He briefly plays out that night in his mind and he remembers jumping into pond to avoid getting wounded by the explosion.

A pond.

Bees can’t swim.

He looks around, and sure enough, a couple yards away is a glistening pond. With a huff, he catches up to Winta, snatches her hand, and drags her to the right, towards the pond. She protests at first, until she realizes what he is doing. She matches his pace but doesn’t let go of his hand. Running full speed, they launch into the pond feet-first with a tidal wave inducing splash.

They both take gulps of air large enough to fill their lungs and submerge themselves into the water. Winta, despite herself, is still clutching desperately to Din, squeezing his wrist with white knuckles. She’s not sure how long they stay under, but it can’t be long because Din is already standing up right, gasping for air.

He is clearly a new krill farmer. She can hold her breath for almost three whole minutes, but he doesn’t have the same aquatic experience as herself.

She stands upright and pushes her thick mane out of her eyes. Looking over at him, he resembles a tooka-cat that just got tossed into a pond. His brow is furrowed, his shoulders rigid, and his face pinched.

She can’t help it, but she bursts out laughing at the sight. He looks positively miserable and it is _hysterical_.

“Are you okay?” He asks her, his voice tight with worry, but his lips betray him by quirking up in the slightest of smiles.

Winta nods, catching her breath. “So much for surprising momma with honey.”

He sighs, tilts his head to the side and points behind her. “What about berries?”

She turns around, spotting the bush to which he was pointing, with bright blue berries. “Oh my gosh!” She whips back around. “Din! These will be perfect! Momma will make a cobbler that will _melt_ in your mouth! Come on!” She’s already heaving herself out of the water and Din is wondering where she gets all of her energy.

He heaves himself out of the water too, already sensing a pang in his back that he will _definitely_ feel in the morning and helps her pluck berries to put in her soaked apron. In no particular rush, they meander back to the village.

“Thanks for coming with me today, by the way,” Winta says, looking pointedly at her feet.

“Thanks for inviting me. I wish I could say I had fun, but…” he glances at her and she playfully glares at him.

“Oh, please, you know today has been the most fun since you landed here.”

He chuckles, but lets a peaceful silence fall between them. He has had fun today, spending time with Winta is always… well, an adventure. Today had been a nice change of pace, and by the time they get back, the sun is just beginning its descent.

When she sees her two favorite people emerge from the woods, a flurry of joy overwhelms Omera, that is until they get close enough for her to see the bee stings all over their hands and faces. “What trouble did you two cause?” She asks, hand on her hip and her motherly tone in full force.

“We had an encounter with a beehive,” Din confesses first.

Omera looks between the two of them. “Clearly they didn’t appreciate two thieves trying to get into their hive. You should know better, both of you.”

They look down at their feet and Omera can’t help the small smile that rises to her lips.

Winta, looking up from under her lashes, bashfully says, “But we brought berries back.”

Omera arches a brow at the guilty party, both of them looking at her like a pair of scolded children. “I assume that a cobbler is in order then.”

Winta beams and she thrusts the berries to her mom. “Thanks momma!”

“You two go get washed up, you both smell like murky pond water and disaster.”

Winta was right though. When the cobbler is done and Omera serves them each a slice in the comfort of their front porch, it does melt in his mouth and he begins to worry ever so slightly about his waist size.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I bake a lot and my poor boyfriend is DISTRAUGHT that he had to go up a notch in his belt... of course he blames the copious amount of cakes and muffins that are made in my house... woops ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thank you all for not completely hating the last chapter! <3 Your kind words definitely encourage me to keep going. If you have any ideas/prompts for what should happen to our cute lil family, let me know! 
> 
> tumblr: @amukmuk


	11. Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, Winta is just as competitive as Din.

They’re not entirely certain how it started, but the rules are simple: don’t get caught. Getting caught is an automatic three-point deduction and one point is rewarded for each hour that the spoon goes unnoticed. First person to thirty wins. So far, Din is in the lead with 21 points, which means that alliances are starting to form.

Winta and Omera are in ponds that are across from each other and Din, just having hauled his krill trap from the pond, is getting ready to walk in between them. Omera whistles a quick two-note tune and Winta’s head snaps up. Time to put their plan into action. Pulling herself up from the pond, she “loses her footing” and tumbles straight into him. The trap falls to the ground, spilling krill everywhere.

“Oh my gosh!” Winta cries. Din is facing her and not facing Omera, which is exactly their plan. “I’m so sorry, I fell!”

“You need to be more careful, you’ll hurt yourself,” he mutters, bending down scoop up the flopping krill.

“I know, so clumsy,” Winta says. Omera sneaks up behind him, spoon brandished.

He looks up at her, “You gonna help?”

“Oh yeah,” she ducks down and starts scooping up krill and tossing them into the trap. Omera steps right up behind him and, with her tongue stuck out with concentration, slowly pushes the handle of the spoon into his back pocket.

He stands bolt up right and whirls around, catching her wrist with the spoon hanging half out of his pocket. “I knew you two were up to no good,” he smirks and pulls the spoon out.

Winta rolls her eyes, “Would it kill you to let us just get one on you?”

“And let you win?” He tucks the spoon away and picks up the trap. “I think not”

Din has been holding onto the spoon for quite some time, waiting for when they least expect it. But now, now seems like the perfect time. Winta is sitting off in the long grass with her friend, Havi – he thinks that is his name – and Omera is fully concentrated on her weaving, her loom propped up on the side of the railing on their porch. He smoothly climbs up the three steps and slides his arm around, pressing a chaste kiss to her neck.

She hums with satisfaction, leaning into his kiss when she sits up and smacks him away. “You’ll have to be more creative than that, Din,” she scolds as she begins patting down her pockets. Realizing there is no spoon, she bashfully looks up at him.

Mustering his most wounded expression, sticking his bottom lip out and everything, he mumbles, “Am I not allowed to greet you with a kiss anymore?”

She feels horrible, absolutely horrible and she pulls him into a hug. “I’m sorry, you can greet me like that any time.”

He quickly slips the spoon into the side pocket of her dress as he winds his arms around her. “Good,” he presses a kiss to the top off her head and looks up at the sun to get the time.

Six hours later, they’re getting ready for bed. That means six points for him; he tries not to smirk to himself as he pulls the blankets back so that they can climb into bed. She’s in the washroom changing and performing her nighttime routine. He loves watching her braid her hair for bed, it’s so long and beautiful and the way she brushes and brushes –

“Din Djarin!” She shouts from the other side of the closed door.

He sighs, sounds like she found the spoon.

The door flies open, and she storms into the bedroom, spoon brandished like it is some sort of weapon. “How long has this been in my pocket?!”

He tries to squash the smile rising to his lips, but he can’t help it. She looks positively ridiculous, eyebrows arched, hand on her hips, spoon pointed at him accusatorily. “About six hours,” he smirks.

She groans. “Twenty-seven points! Twenty-Seven!”

He shrugs, “Better keep up.”

They have to be more creative. Winta and Omera are sitting on the front porch, watching Din as he fixes the trap that Winta smashed the day before. He, a vision of calm, knows that they’re watching – but that’s the fun of the game, letting them think they have a leg up on him.

“He gave you a hug and stuck it in your pocket?”

“Pretty sure that’s when it happened,” Omera sighs, tapping the spoon against her leg.

“You need to be more alert, mom! We have like 4 points between the two of us.”

“Six.”

Winta groans, wiping her hand across her face. “Either way! He’s killing us!”

Silence lulls for a moment while they brainstorm a way to get the spoon in his pocket.

“What if we have Havi do it?”

Omera arches an eyebrow at her.

“He wouldn’t be expecting him,” Winta elaborates.

“But then it would be Havi’s points.”

“Not if we make him a part of our team.”

“So, we’re a team now?”

“Until one of us pulls ahead, yes.”

Omera considers it and then says, “I think maybe it’s time we gave him a taste of his own medicine.”

Din rolls his head from side to side. The sun is particularly hot and the way he’s been sitting for the past couple hours has really done a number on his shoulders. He sits up straight, feeling a few vertebrae pop when Omera swoops in behind him and starts rubbing his shoulders. A groan escapes his lips and his head rolls back in relaxation.

“You’ve been working too hard today,” she murmurs.

“Lot to get done,” he sighs as she digs into a particularly resistant knot.

“Want to take a break?” She whispers in his ear.

“What kind of break?”

“Use your imagination.”

He gets up and while he is stretching his back, she slips the spoon into the front pocket of his pants.

“I feel used,” he mumbles as he pulls the spoon from his pants pocket. “How long has this been here?”

“Six hours,” Omera smirks.

He shakes his head at her, “And here I thought you just found me desirable today.”

“I find you desirable every day,” she winks.

He sighs and walks away. He knew the spoon had been there, but at twelve points that will keep them encouraged and him in the lead.

“He’s going to come after you next,” Omera says as she and Winta wash the dishes in the long hall. It was technically Winta’s turn for kitchen duty, but Omera always helps because, well, she doesn’t want the entire village to die from food poisoning.

“Maybe that’s what he wants us to think. Maybe he wants us to be watching my pockets, but not yours! We both need to remain vigilant.”

Omera shakes her head, maybe this game was getting out of control.

Putting the spoon in Winta’s dress pocket is painfully easy. So easy, in fact, that he almost feels bad for doing it. _Almost_. She walks by him, completely engrossed in whatever Havi is saying and he slips the spoon in her pocket.

Easy.

“And so, I was reading last night… Oh hey, your mom’s boyfriend just put something in your pocket. Did you need that for anything?”

She shoves her hands in her pockets and whirls around. He is halfway across the pond farm, but that doesn’t stop her from yelling at him, “You better sleep with one eye open, old man!”

The spoon is back in Winta’s hands which means anything can happen. She is an unpredictable opponent, but Din knows that he is the only target. Her mom has the most points between them, and she wouldn’t sacrifice that alliance, this much he knows for certain. Currently, she’s standing next to Havi again, gesturing wildly.

“Havi, you have to do it.”

“Winta, I am _not_ going to hit you!”

“Havi please! Just right across the face, I promise I can take it.”

He wipes his hand across his face in frustration. “Listen to yourself! This game has gotten out of hand! You’re paranoid and now, NOW you want me to hit you and ignite a wrath I really don’t want to be on the receiving end of!”

“Please?” She gives him her big doe eyes that she knows he can’t resist.

He sighs, “Please, no you know I can’t stand it when you do that.”

“Havi?” She sticks her bottom lip out.

“I’m not going to hit you first,” he grumbles. “I can’t do it. You’re my best friend.”

She hauls off and smacks him and he stands there, stunned. He shoves her and she glares at him. “You’re supposed to hit me.”

“I hate you so much right now,” he shoves her again.

She shoves him back. “Coward.”

“Oh, now you’re really asking for it,” he tackles her to the ground, and she giggles until she realizes what she’s trying to do.

Din, like a flash of lightening, hauls Havi off of her and shoves him, his anger clearly getting the best of him. “What the hell are you doing?” He growls, Havi’s shirt bunched up in his fists.

“I, uh, sir, Mr. Djarin sir, I uh…” Havi is fumbling for his words, but that doesn’t matter, Winta is already to her feet and shoving the spoon in his pocket.

“Don’t worry about it, I started it,” she clarifies, wiping the dirt off of her smock.

He turns to her. “I saw that, if you’re going to hit someone you need to use your fist, not an open palm.” He turned back to Havi, glaring at him. “What did you do to deserve to get hit? Hm?”

Havi visibly swallows and silently begs to Winta for help. “He lost a bet,” she blurts.

Din turns to her again, an eyebrow arched. “You were gambling?”

Now she’s done it. “I… uh… yeah. We were betting. If I won… I got to slap him… If he won… He, uh…”

“I got to take her out to dinner,” Havi finishes.

He looks between the two of them. He lets the young man go, but continues to eye them both, “Do I even want to know what you were betting on?”  
She shakes her head, “No.”

He looks at Havi and the young man shakes his head, “No sir.”

Din steps close to him and growls, “If I see you lay hands on her again…” He trails off before storming off to the direction from whence he came, his whole body rigid with anger, and an undetected spoon in his pocket.

“You owe me big time,” Havi smooths his shirt with shaking hands.

She turns to him and smiles, “How about dinner?”

That night, when he takes off his pants, he finds the spoon… and he wasn’t expecting to. “Winta?” He asks, quickly pulling his pants back up and tying them shut.

“Yes?” She leans against the door frame, grinning like a tooka.

“How long has the spoon been in my pocket?”

“12 whole hours. Eat it old man, you’re going down.”

He sighs. She’s at 24 points, he’s at 27 and this game is escalating. Omera brushes past Winta on her way in and asks, “What was that about?”

“The game, this is…,” he begins pulling the blankets back on the bed again. Omera smiles because he always makes the bed in the morning and neatly tucks the blankets back before getting into bed, his very own nighttime routine.

“Becoming more than just an innocent game?” She suggests as she picks up her hairbrush.

He nods. “She made her friend start a fight with her just so that I would break it up.”

She snorts and pulls her hair around her shoulder so that she could get the ends of it. Din watches her, mesmerized. “Well I think there is only one thing that we can do.”

“What do you suggest?” He begins to slide under the covers.

She sits down on the edge of the mattress, causing the bed to dip. “Well we can’t very well let her win, not with the way she is carrying on.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting an alliance?”

She smiles. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

The next morning, Din purposefully gets caught putting the spoon in Omera’s pocket, right in front of Winta. It was all part of the plan, to get Winta to drop her guard. Now, thinking that the spoon is safely in the hands of an ally, she goes about her day, knowing none the wiser. With the three-point deduction, they are tied and Winta is dangerously cocky.

Din looks over at Omera, who is standing in the pond, and gives her a quick two-toned whistle as Winta approaches. Winta and Havi are walking along, inseparable as always, when Omera calls out, “Winta! Can you help me untangle this real quick?”

“Sure!” Winta jumps into the pond and helps her with the “snag”. The man-made knot comes apart easily and before long, she is pulling herself back out of the pond and Omera sneakily slips the spoon in the exposed pocket of her dress. When Winta and Havi are back on their way, Omera looks over to Din and gives a quick whistle and a nod. They both look up at the sun.

Now they wait.

At dinner, Winta slides into the booth and slams the spoon down on the table. “I have been _betrayed_.”

Din and Omera look at each other, both feigning absolute innocence. “What are you talking about?” Omera asks.

“He got to you, didn’t he? My own mother betrayed me. How long has this spoon been here?”

“About six hours,” Din answers, taking a sip of his water.

“Six hours!? That’s six points!”

“Which means,” he leans across the table and smirks. “That _I_ win.”

Omera clears her throat. “I think you mean _we_ win. You wouldn’t have won if it wasn’t for me.”

“I can’t believe you… the betrayal.” Shaking her head, she gets up from the table and goes and sits with her friends.

Omera smirks as pushes the vegetables across her plate. “This was fun… but we are never playing a game ever again. You and Winta are far too competitive.”

“I believe you were willing to take advantage of certain situations yourself,” he takes a bite of the leafy greens.

She hums in agreement. “Either way, we make a pretty good team.”

He smiles and rests his shoulder against hers, “That we do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a game that I used to play when I waited tables lol, except we played with all the cutlery. 2 points for butter knives, 3 for forks, 4 for spoons. Thanks for reading!


	12. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The struggles of shopping for women are relevant even to an ex-bounty hunter.

One of the traps used to catch krill at the bottom of the ponds is stuck and Din needs to cut it free in order to repair it. With a sigh, he pulls himself from the pond and makes his way to the barn to grab the sheers. He’s not exactly paying attention – he’s gotten far too relaxed since moving here, but he tries to let himself enjoy it without too much guilt – because today is simply beautiful. As he walks the familiar path, he cranes his neck back as if it will help him absorb more sunlight and he lets his eyes flutter shut.

Cruising into the barn, his heart leaps into his throat and his hand flies to his empty belt when a yelp comes from the corner. “You need to knock!” Omera chastises, quickly covering up what ever she was doing.

He stares at her, lost as to what she was talking about, trying to get his heart rate to slow down.

She stands up, “You need to knock around this time of year.”

This, of course, clarifies nothing and he continues to stare at her, head cocked to the side. Finally, when he’s certain his voice won’t come out in a strangled croak, he asks, “Why?”

She smiles softly. “There are only a couple more weeks until the winter solstice.”

He is about to give up. At this point, she should be speaking Jawa, he would stand a better chance at understanding just what in the hell she is trying to say. “Winter solstice?”

“Oh,” her eyes widen. “You have never heard of a winter solstice celebration?”

He shakes his head in the negative.

“Well, most winter solstice celebrations are to give gifts to help people you care about make it through the time with no harvests. Here, we don’t have that issue so much because of the climate, but we still like to take part of the tradition.”

“Of gift giving?”

She smiles and nods.

His nice, relaxing day now feels incredibly overwhelming. “When… When do you celebrate the winter solstice?”

“Its two weeks away.”

Great. Now he really feels sick.

“Are you okay?” She asks.

He simply nods and heads back out to the pond. It is only when he gets back in the water that he remembers he forgot the sheers.

The next day, he is standing hip deep in a pond, when Winta asks him. “You alright, old man?”

He snaps out of his thoughts of getting a gift for the two most important people in his life. The problem is that there is nothing he could give either of them that is anything close to what they deserve. He showed up at Omera’s doorstep, twice, and she never once turned him away. She never once spoke at him in anger when he was having a particularly bad day. She cared for him, despite all his flaws – and that alone was enough for her to deserve the entire galaxy on a silver platter.

The same went for Winta. Twice he had barged into her life, turning everything upside down and she was always so _kind_. Also, she provided several interesting distractions during his day – making krill farming much more exciting than he thought it could ever be.

“Yeah, why?” He answers, finally.

“Nothing, you just got that thousand parsec stare. Thought you were about to start telling tales from your time in the Clone Wars or something.” She plucks at a fray on her dress.

He turns his head towards her with a playful glare on his face, “I’m not that old.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Mhm. So, what has you looking like a traumatized war vet?”

He sighs. “Well if you must know, I learned about the winter solstice yesterday.”

She sits on the bank and dangles her feet in the pond. “And?”

“And… I’m not certain what to get your mother.”

She hums and picks at the fray again. “Well… I’m sure you’ve noticed, but momma is a pretty… practical woman. She doesn’t really like flowery things.”

Yes, that is one of the things he loves about her. She is to the point, in every aspect of her life. She doesn’t waste time beating around the bush or fussing over unnecessary items.

He nods and Winta continues, “But her favorite thing in the _entire_ world is spending time with people she loves. I’m planning on spending a whole day baking with her. I went into town with Havi the other day and bought some chocolate. It was kind of expensive, but it will be worth it to make those pastry things she likes.” 

“So that’s where you were? Your mother was worried about you.”

“And you weren’t?”

He sighs, that is besides the point. “So, what do you think I should do?”

“Hmm…” she kicks her feet slowly, creating gentle waves in the pond. “I think maybe you should take her on a picnic. Oh! Or maybe plan a weekend in town together. That would be romantic and fun!”

He nods. “I guess I’ll think about it.”

“Good luck.” She gets up and leaves him in the pond with an idea slowly flickering in his mind.

Two nights later, Din and Omera are lying in bed, him on his back with her curled up on his chest just like usual. Running his hand through her long, dark locks, he asks, “What are you getting Winta for the Winter Solstice?”

“I’m making her a new dress, the one she has is fraying at the sleeves.”

Welp, there went his idea. Not that he was going to make her a dress… but he figured someone in town had to be a seamstress, right?

“Why? What are you thinking about getting her?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know, you don’t have to get her, or me, anything. It’s not that big of a deal, I feel like you’ve been so much more stressed since I told you about it.”

He kisses the top of her head and she sighs, settling further into the nook of his shoulder. “No, I guess not.”

“So, I thought of what you can get me,” Winta plops down next to Din. He’s currently trying to repair a basket, and while he has improved, he is no Omera.

“Who said I was getting you anything?” He quips, without looking up at her. He just needed to hook this little bit of wicker around the next piece…

“You’re supposed to get stuff for people you like.”

He arches an eyebrow and looks at her through his lashes. “And where did you get the idea that I like you? Sounds like you’re making a lot of assumptions here.”

She shoves him playfully and he drops the basket. “I’m just saying, that if you have the time, and you’re interested you could, I don’t know, give me a blaster?”

His head snaps up; now she has his attention. “You want a blaster?”

She shrugs. “You and momma both know how, I don’t see why I shouldn’t know.”

He can’t really think of a reason either, but he should probably talk to Omera about this first. “I’ll think about it,” he answers.

He has the perfect idea; the problem is he can’t remember which crate he packed it in when he packed up the Razor Crest. He is standing in the barn, glowering at the boxes of his junk that probably should have been hocked months ago, but never really had the heart to sell. He has a lot of nice weapons in these boxes and equally as many of them have sentimental value.

With a sigh, he pulls the first crate down and starts going through it. Weapons, weapons, weapons, ammunition. Okay, not this box. Second crate, weapons, weapons, weapons, charges. Nope, not this one either. Third crate, he smiles and pulls out the small holoprojector. He had bought it for his boy to watch on long trips between planets. Holding it in his hand brings back warm memories of his baby curled up on his chest at night, fast asleep, drooling as he watched whatever happened to come on the channel he was streaming. For some reason, there were always a lot of commercials for personal injury lawyers.

“There you are,” he hears Omera’s voice and swiftly hides it behind his back, turning to her.

“I didn’t know you were looking for me.”

She smirks. “What do you have there?” She nods at his hands not so inconspicuously tucked behind him.

“Nothing,” he answers and kicks himself for not being a better liar. Not that it would matter, he’s pretty certain she could see straight through him if he did. She has a particular talent for reading his face like it was a book written with the sole purpose of being read just by her.

She arches an eyebrow. “Oh, is that so?”

“I thought one should not ask questions around this time of year,” he repeats what she said to him a few days ago when he caught her rustling in around here again.

She smirks. “You are definitely right.”

They stand, neither one planning on moving.

He clears his throat and says, “Winta wants me to teach her how to shoot.”

Omera’s eyes widen. “Oh?”

He shrugs, still keeping the projector out of her line of sight. “I wasn’t going to, unless you said its okay.”

She nods slowly. “Well… she’s an adult now.”

“But she’s still your daughter.”

She frowns for a second, almost like she’s going to correct him, but then her brow loosens, and she says, “I don’t have a problem with it if you don’t. Everyone should know how to defend themselves. Ignorance is not safety.”

“No, it’s not.”

She nods. “Well… then I guess I will leave you to your…” she eyes the crates. “Gift planning.”

When she’s gone, he pulls the projector back out and smiles to himself.

“You’re going into town and you didn’t even bother to ask if I was interested in going _with_ you?” Winta is pouting as he loads some of his things in a pack to sell. Might as well, there’s some stuff that he had… stolen is a strong word… _apprehended_ from bounties that he should probably get rid of.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to spend all day with a crusty old man, recounting his tales from the Clone Wars.”

She frowns, “You’re not that old.”

“What was that? Say it again, I wasn’t recording you.”

She glares at him, “Well I wouldn’t describe you as _crusty_. Maybe just… wrinkly, withered? Ancient?”

“Keep it up if you don’t want a present.”

She snaps her mouth shut. “Fine. Have fun in town… _without_ me.”

In all, his trip was productive. He sold the stuff he wanted to sell and bought some stuff he needed to pull off his Winter Solstice gifts. For Omera, he planned a movie night. He bought a couple discs for the holoprojector, some snacks that he had seen people eating in the core worlds when they went to the cinema, and a large piece of white fabric to hang in the barn for the movie to project onto. And, on a whim, he bought some magenta ribbon for their hair even though he really has no idea about anything to do with hair. He doesn’t even style his own. But they frequently tie strands of colored fabric into their hair that they made themselves – which due to the krill pond, normally ended up being blue, green, or a dark purple if they happened to find some red dye. But this fabric is a bright magenta, no hint of blue krill water anywhere in its dying process. He’s pretty certain he was overcharged, but he doesn’t mind when he thinks of them having something different for their hair.

Finishing polishing the blaster, he holds it out from him to admire the shine of it. He feels a little bad giving Winta a hand-me-down gift, but it is one of his favorite blasters, and its trusty. Never once has it jammed or overheated in a fire fight. So, he has no problem boxing up the blaster, his favorite red cleaning cloth, a holster, and the magenta fabric in a box. He smiles at himself and what feels like success. Plus, he really can’t wait to teach her how to shoot it.

It is the morning of the Winter Solstice and the air is a little cooler, but it definitely doesn’t feel like a winter that Din has experienced on any other planet. “Happy Winter Solstice, my loves,” Omera comes over and kisses Winta’s hair and then presses a kiss to Din’s cheek. She sets down a tea pot and pours tea for each of them.

“So, who wants to go first? I think it should be me since I’m the youngest,” Winta grins, nearly vibrating with excitement to tear open the gifts in front of her.

“I think that’s fair,” Din shrugs and Omera shakes her head.

“Okay baby, go ahead.”

Winta reaches for her mom’s first and tears it open. Inside the carefully packaged box is a new, purple dress. Winta stands up and, holding it to her shoulders, twirls around. “Oh momma, its perfect! Thank you!”

Omera nods and looks at Din.

Winta tears open the next, not as neatly packaged, box. She pauses though, when she sees the silver glint of the blaster. “You… this is mine?” she asks, looking up at him incredulously.

He nods.

“Oh, thank you!” She jumps up and throws her arms around his neck, catching him off guard. He hugs her back anyway, and he tells himself it is just dirt in his eye that is making his eyes water a little. “So, when are you going to teach me?”

“Whenever you want.”

She grins. “I’m excited.” Then, bouncing she turns to her mom. “Okay, you open yours.”

“Okay…” She opens the first one from Winta. “Is this…” she holds the label away so that she can read it. “Chocolate?”

Winta nods excitedly.

“This means chocolate pastries.”  
Winta nods again.

“Those are my favorite.”

“Mhm! I figured next weekend we could bake all day. Spend time together.”

“That sounds lovely,” she smiles and turns to the next box.

Inside, was the snacks and hair ribbon. She holds up the ribbon and smiles. “Magenta?”

He shrugs. “It’s something different, I put some in Winta’s box as well.”

“This is my favorite color,” she beams, and his heart does the little flip it always does when she gives him a true, full smile.

“Lucky guess,” he confesses. “The rest of my gift is in the barn, and um, it would probably be best if you got it this evening. Is that okay?”

“Yes, that will be okay,” she gives him a tender smile. “Go ahead and open yours, love.”

Din pauses at the neatly package present in front of him. He can’t remember the last time he ever received a present. He was gifted a couple weapons, but they were never presented this way. He has never experienced opening gifts with a family and his heart does another flip at referring to them as his family.

He carefully picks it up and Winta says, “It was kind of a community effort, so I’m sorry we only have one for you.”

Nodding, he slowly unpackages the box and inside is a small disk, a holograph. He looks up at the two of them, wondering just where they managed to find this. He hopes that they didn’t buy this because a holograph disk like this can be insanely expensive.

“Turn it on! Turn it on!” Winta is practically bouncing with excitement and Omera is beaming.

Removing it from the box, he presses the center button and chokes. The first image that is projected is a class photo of sorts. There are a dozen younglings; they can’t be older than 6, but in the center is a small green child in robes that are just a touch to big, grinning from one oversized ear to the other oversized ear.

“Where?” He begins, but his throat tightens, and he can’t get the rest of the question out.

“Havi helped. Havi’s mom knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy that knew of a Jedi,” Winta explained.

“And I had an old holograph player that I fixed up.”

“And then Havi and I went into town to holo-chat with the Jedi-guy and he sent us a couple photos.”

The slideshow passes to the next photo, of his son levitating a series of balls in the air. His hand is outstretched, and his eyes closed as he focuses on what he was doing.

“And we couldn’t think of anything better to give you… If we can’t give you time with your son, then we can give you the peace of knowing he’s okay,” Omera smiles.

He clears his throat as his vision wobbles with tears he doesn’t want to spill over. The image turns again to the next in the series of the slideshow, but he can’t really see anything other than the blurry green blob he knows is his son. “I…” he begins.

Omera stands up and wraps her arms around him. “I hope you like it,” she murmurs next to his ear.

He nods, and when he blinks, he can’t help that a few tears plop in his lap. “I think this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten,” his voice is thick with emotion, but he can’t find himself to care right now. The image on the holodisk is his son again, smiling with a group of younglings – his friends, Din thinks. “Thank you both… For this.”

Winta smiles, tears shimmering in her eyes as well. “I’m happy we were able to do this for you,” she wipes the backs of her hands over her eyes haphazardly. Then, slapping her hands on the tops of her thighs, she proclaims, “Now, let’s go get some food, before it’s all gone!”

Din and Omera chuckle and ease themselves up, their joints only protesting slightly, and the follow the teenager. She is a few paces ahead of them and Havi – a young man the same age as Winta with dark brown locks, and equally as dark eyes – comes up and gives her a bright smile. He hands her something small and she smiles.

“They’ve always been the best of friends,” Omera explains.

He puts his arm around her and pulls her close, letting the warm silence fall between them.

That evening, Din escorts his – no, _the_ – girls to the barn, blindfolds tied loosely around their eyes. While the gift had _technically_ been for Omera, he knew the best gift to her would be time spent with their – her – daughter.

“Okay,” he says, as he pushes the door open. “You can take off the blindfolds.”

The barn looks nothing like it had. All of the crates have been pushed off to the side, except for a few, where mats were folded up against them to make makeshift chairs. On the far wall, a large white sheet had been tacked up and behind the seats was a projector, already paused on the title screen of a movie. Snacks were stationed on the far crates against the wall and a strand of twinkling lights had been tacked up across the ceiling.

“This…” Omera pauses, taking in the sight.

“Is totally _awesome_!” Winta darts into his homemade movie theater and curls up on a mat. “Oh! We need blankets!” And she darts off again.

Omera looks up at Din, “Where did you find all of this?”

“Here and there,” he answers with a shrug. “Do you not like it?”

“No! No! I love it! This…” she motions to the room. “Is everything I’ve ever wanted. Quiet time with you and Winta.” She pushes up to her toes and kisses his cheek. “Thank you.”

Winta – the teenager has one speed, and it is _fast_ – comes rushing back in, soft green blankets in hand. “Press play, old man!” She flops on the right mat. Omera grabbing the snacks, brings them over and sits on the left mat. Din presses play on the holoprojector and takes the only empty seat, in the middle.

Settling between his – he admits it this time – girls, he arranges the blankets so that everyone is comfortable and covered. Omera curls up on his shoulder and its not long before Winta does the same. His heart pounds heavily in his chest – and he gets dirt in his eye _again_ – as he pulls his family a little bit closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to @beckleston and @rpcvliz for the idea of a gift giving holiday and a baby yoda update. I somehow managed to squeeze them both into one chapter! <3 
> 
> Also, I pulled all of this directly from thin air, so if anything is to blatantly just not star wars tech, please let me know and I will adjust it accordingly <3
> 
> And, as per usual, thank you for reading! I love every single comment and kudos!


	13. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din gets Pond Fever.

Omera knew it would happen eventually, everyone who works in the krill ponds eventually gets it. Most people in their village got it as a kid, making them immune to it now. The few people who get it as adults… well, their side effects are much more severe.

“Stop scratching,” she scolds him, swatting his hand away from his arm. He has broken out in hives, the first of the many ailments that come with Pond Fever.

Din sighs and lets her apply the sav to his inflamed skin. “I need to work,” he rasps, trying to stand up. That is another first-wave symptom, a rough and scratchy throat. No one is certain what exactly causes Pond Fever, but it almost seems like an allergic reaction. It begins with hives and swollen glands then moves to a high fever and finishes with hyper-realistic hallucinations which, for most, ends up being mostly nightmares. Plus, during the three waves, the victim suffers from debilitating fatigue. So, while his deep, gravelly tone is _incredibly_ sexy, she remains firm and pushes him back down.

“No, you need to rest.”

He sighs and lets her massage the sav onto his back. The relief is almost instantaneous. His skin feels like it is on fire, and the touch of her gentle hands and the cool cream is ecstasy. He moans a little as she moves to his other arm. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“Of course. Now lay down and get some rest. If I find you out wandering around, don’t think I won’t drag you back to bed, because I will.”

He lays down and she starts tucking the blankets in tightly around him. “Is that a threat or a promise?” He asks her, a playful smirk crinkling his eyes.

She rolls her eyes and chuckles, “A threat. A promise will come later.” She gently kisses his cheek and leaves him in the bedroom.

When she comes back to check on him, he’s still sleeping soundly, blankets tucked up all the way to his nose. Before she wakes him, she takes a brief moment to admire how peaceful he looks. His hair is tousled from sleep and his brow is perfectly relaxed, taking years off his face. As quietly as she could manage, she pads over to him and gently touches his forehead; no fever, yet. Sighing, he leans into her touch and his eyes flutter open. “Hey,” he rasps.

“How are you feeling?” She whispers, gently stroking a line along his cheekbone with her thumb. 

“Tired,” he answers through heavy lids. “Itchy… water?” He asks her, trying to sit up, only to decide that it is too difficult and slides back down.

“Of course,” she moves over and pours him a glass from the pitcher that she keeps on the bedside table. She helps him sit up and holds the glass for him as he takes a few, hesitant sips.

Lowering him back down to the bed he whispers, “Thank you.”

“Are you hungry?” She murmurs, smoothing down his bed head.

He shakes his head and tries to say ‘no’ but doesn’t quite manage it.

“You should probably eat something.”

He shakes his head again. “Not hungry.”

Eventually, he does eat. They serve broth at the long hall specifically for their sick village member and Omera grabs a bowl and brings it back home for him to sip on. She gets him to finish half of the bowl before he is falling asleep, leaning against the headboard. Setting the soup aside, she lowers him back down and tucks him in. He thanks her again at least four more times during the whole exchange and she begins to wonder if maybe he thinks of himself as a burden in this moment. A man so used to providing for everyone has now been rendered virtually useless by Pond Fever. As he drifts back off, breathing heavily through his mouth – his nose is probably far too congested to be of use at this point – she runs her fingers through his hair. “You don’t need to thank me,” she whispers. “I love you.”

The next day is not as calm or tranquil. Omera goes in to check on him and his blankets have been tossed off. He is curled up on his side, knees drawn up to his chest, sweaty and shaking. The second wave, the fever. She pads over to him and gently places the back of her hand on his head. He snatches her wrist, probably a little too roughly, until his eyes come into to focus on her. “I feel so cold,” he rasps.

“It’s the fever,” she whispers, moving her hand back to his head. He is scalding hot and she needs to get the temperature down. There is nothing more she can really do, except let the everything run its course and do her best to treat the symptoms.

“Water,” he rasps again.

She brings the water to his lips once more, and he doesn’t even try to take the glass, he knows he is far too weak. Falling back to the bed, he wheezes a few times and scratches his chest where another patch of hives has formed.

She sits on the side of the bed and puts the sav on the spot, not bothering to scold him. He looks up at her through heavy lids and murmurs, “Thank you.”

“Shh,” she whispers. “Get some sleep.” 

She’s not sure if he even hears her because he’s already snoring faintly. She gathers a cold compress and presses it to his forehead before leaving him to rest.

When Omera comes back, the blankets are kicked off again and he is not okay. He’s thrashing in bed and she is concerned because it feels too early for wave three – the hallucinations. She rushes to his side and touches his shoulder, “Din.”

He wakes with a start, panting, and wipes the sweat off his brow. “Nightmare,” he hisses and crashes back to the bed. “This is awful. I feel like I’m dying.”

She pours him another glass of water and he gulps it desperately as she offers it to his lips. He thanks her again and she smooths his hair down. “You don’t have to thank me,” she whispers. She keeps her hand on the side of his face and he welcomes her cool touch.

“I’m sorry I’m so sick.”

“You don’t have to apologize either.”

He chuckles and his eyes start to droop again.

“You should try and eat again.”

He hums, but curls up on his side and passes out, shivering until she tucks him back in.

To give him plenty of room to fan out and be sick, she has been sleeping in their front room. She is curled up on the mat, a light blanket tugged around her when she is jolted awake by someone yelling. Leaping up, she darts into the room and flips on the light. Din is scrambling up, shouting for something to get away from him. She rushes over and tries to restrain his arms before he hurt himself, “Din. Din. It’s me, shhh,” he thrashes again and pushes her away.

“Momma! Is everything okay?” Winta is at the door, watching her wrestle the ex-bounty hunter down.

“Get a cold compress and some sleeping herbs.”

Winta runs off and Omera focuses her attention back on this clearly terrified man. His eyes are as wide as two full moons and he’s looking right through her. “Din!” She tries again.

He looks up at her and his gaze softens, “’mera?”

She nods, wiping the sweat off his face. “It’s me… shhh.”

Suddenly he’s scrambling away from her again, but the fear in his eyes is something completely different. “Stay away from me. If… if I’m hallucinating… I could hurt you. You and Winta need… need to stay away from me.”

She shakes her head as Winta re-enters, also looking terrified. “Momma,” she holds out the herbs and compress and Din flinches.

“Thanks baby, go back to bed.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Yes, go back to bed.”

Hesitantly, Winta turns to take her leave, only after she eyes the panting man on the bed. He truly looked terrible. When he had first arrived in their village, he had been fairly pale, but since working out in the ponds he has gotten a nice tan. Now, however, he looks paler than she has ever seen him. His face is slick with sweat and blotchy with sickness. Even his hair, which never really lays neatly, looks messier than normal.

He glances up at Omera, eyes remorseful. “Din, you can’t hurt me,” she whispers as she slowly moves towards him, like approaching a wild animal.

“I’ve killed people,” he rasps, but he doesn’t shy away from her.

“So, have I,” she presses the compress to his forehead and crumples the herbs onto his chest. “Just let me take care of you, okay?”

Voice thick, he agrees, “Okay.”

The next night, he awakes again, screaming. Omera had slept on the floor by the foot of the bed, should he need anything and bolts up right at the first sound of distress. “Din,” she coos, sitting on the side of the bed, trying to calm him as he sits up. “Din.”

He grasps her wrists tightly and rasps. “I’m sorry.”

He still looks a thousand parsecs away, his eyes staring right through her once more. Her heart races with curiosity to know what he is seeing but at the same time she’s not certain what hallucinations are torturing him. Her soul simply aches with the desire to make all the pain and suffering go away. “Din, love, come back to me,” she pleads instead.

“Mom, I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Omera freezes, she has only heard him talk about his mother once, and her blood runs cold as she realizes that he must be seeing her as his mother. She turns her wrists in his hands so that she can grab his, “You have _nothing_ to be sorry for.”

“I wish you could meet her,” he rasps, a small smile twisting his lips. “I love her so much.”

Tears spring to her eyes. They haven’t exchanged those words yet even though the feeling is there. She almost feels guilty hearing it this way, like she’s intruding on his thoughts. Then, with a sudden jerk she’s snapped back, and Din is clambering to his feet, dragging her with him. “You have to go; you have to run. They’re going to kill you.”

“Din, no one is here,” she whispers, twisting out of his grasp and gripping his upper arms. “It’s me.”

He blinks a couple times and then pulls her into a hug. “I thought I told you to stay away.”

“And I said I wouldn’t leave you. Come back to bed,” she shuffles him back to bed and tucks him in. 

“I saw my mother,” he whispers as she pulls the blankets tight around him.

“I know,” she murmurs.

He laughs and then coughs, but his expression remains crinkled with remorse, “I’m older than her now.”

Omera lays down next to him and pulls him close to her chest. She doesn’t say anything, just holds him as a few silent tears stream down his cheeks and plop onto her nightgown. It’s cruel, really, how this sickness twists memories, twists the mind. There is no cure for Pond Fever; the younger kids have a couple nightmares, but not many children in their village have traumatic life experiences that could haunt their dreams. She can hardly imagine the horrors that Din has faced, the monsters and demons he sees dancing on the backs of his eyelids when he closes his eyes. She squeezes him a little tighter, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck as she feels his breathing even out with sleep once more.

He sleeps through the rest of the night without incident so in the morning Omera decides to go to the long hall with Winta for breakfast, before going back and tending to him. Pushing her porridge from one side of the bowl to the other, Winta eyes her mother from under her lashes. “You look tired, momma.”

“I am.”

“How is he?”

“He’ll be okay.”

A beat of silence passes between them.

“I heard him screaming again last night.”

Omera hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t offer anything else.

“I didn’t think Pond Fever could be that bad.”

“It’s worse for adults.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Just keep the cold compresses and herbs coming from, you’ve been a great help.”

Winta beams at that and they eat their porridge in silence.

When she’s done eating, she returns back home with a bowl for him and some fresh herbs. To her surprise though, he’s awake when she enters. “Good morning,” she smiles.

“’Morning,” he wheezes.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been mauled by a Mudhorn.”

She snorts, knowing the tale from long ago. She sits on the side of the bed and brings a spoon of porridge to his cracked lips. He gratefully accepts it and swallows it quickly with a wince – yes, the swollen tonsils. Poor man, again she desperately wishes she could make the pain go away.

“Thank you,” he says after another bite of porridge.

“For?”

“Not leaving me last night.”

She looks up at him, he is absolutely exhausted and looks it too. His hair is mussed, dark purple bags have taken up real estate under his eyes, his beard has grown out further than her normally keeps it, and his face is covered in healing splotches from the hives. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

He brushes his fingers along her wrist. “I…”

“Din, look at me.” He does. “I’m doing this because I care about you. You would do the same… You’ve already done so much for me anyway.”

He snorts at that. “Like what? Drop in unannounced and ask for a room in your barn? Mangle some baskets?”

“Love me and my daughter unconditionally,” the words slip from her mouth before she could prevent them, and she looks down at her hands. “You accept her like she’s your own… and I know how challenging she can be,” she chuckles.

Wincing, Din pulls himself up, taking the bowl of porridge from her hands and setting it on the bedside table. A protest begins to form but dies on her lips when she sees the expression on his face. He’s so open and honest, and he loves her. She can see it. She heard it earlier, but now, now a blind man could see the love he has for her. He takes her hand into his own and says, “I do love you. I love you so much.”

Tears spring to her eyes again before she can get herself under control. “You’re sick, delirious… You…”

Hurt flashes across his face, but quickly is covered by a smirk. “I would love you delirious or not.”

She laughs. “I love you too.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good.”

Within the next couple days, he makes a full recovery. Eventually, he rejoins them in the long hall for breakfast and is met by many smiling villagers asking how he is doing. Not wanting to be the center of attention, he awkwardly nods and answers questions as politely – and shortly – as he can manage. When he finally makes it all the way through the long hall, Winta and Omera are seated, bowl of oatmeal waiting for him.

He smiles at his girls as he slides down onto the bench.

“Nice to see you not gross,” Winta teases lightly as he takes up his spoon.

“I wish I could say the same for you,” he quips and starts stirring his breakfast.

She gasps in mock offense and smiles. “For real old man, I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Me too,” Omera smiles.

“Me too,” he says and reaches under the table to squeeze her hand three times. _I love you_.

She squeezes back, _I love you too_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to @rpcvliz for recommending a sick fic! I hope you all enjoyed! :3


	14. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Winta's Birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm presenting the first draft of my thesis tomorrow, so I wanted to give you some fluffy fluff since I may die when the board rips me apart. Also, who knows if I'll be able to make my standard Friday night update. Wish me luck, imma need it!

“They said I would find you here,” Din announces as he enters the kitchen of the long hall. The huts of their village do not come equipped with a full kitchen; everyone shares the long hall kitchen and takes turn cooking. This week, he had been informed, is Omera’s week to cook.

“They?” Omera asks, wiping her hands on a faded, green dish cloth.

He smiles, he really can’t help it when he looks at her. Especially now, with the faintest bit of flour smeared across her nose, his heart skips a beat and causes the smile that makes his eyes crinkle with happiness. “Winta and Havi.”

“Ah, yes. Thick as thieves those two.”

Din nods and walks up to her. Taking her face into his calloused hands, he gently wipes the flour from her nose. “Can I offer my help with anything?”

“Yes, actually,” she beams. He’s so handsome, it should be illegal the way he makes her heart race. She loves him, she loves the way he smiles, the way he is so gentle with his touches. She melts into him briefly before she begins her list of chores. “I’m baking Winta a cake and I would really appreciate it if you would start chopping the vegetables for tonight’s stew.”

“A cake?” He asks.

“Of course. Tomorrow is her birthday.”

His brow furrows suddenly and he worries his bottom lip.

“What’s wrong?” She asks him, her hands running down his shoulders to the crooks of his arms.

“I didn’t know.”

“Well we are baking her a cake.”

“Yes, but… I didn’t get her anything.”

She smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Tomorrow there will be a big party, we’ll celebrate and eat cake and cherish the best gift there is to have. Being together,” she pecks his cheek. “Now, start chopping those vegetables.”

He glances over at the freshly cleaned vegetables, cutting board, and knife and sighs. Despite the many jobs he has had over the years, he can – not so proudly – say that he has never chopped a single vegetable in his entire fifty plus years of living.

They do say that you can teach an old hound new tricks, though.

He takes up the blade and, looking more like he could stab someone and less like a sous-chef, he begins hacking up his garden-grown victims. Meanwhile, Omera has her back turned to him and is whisking up a delicious smelling concoction. As she adds other ingredients, she begins to hum, and Din catches himself swaying a tad to the melodies. He is in no means a dancer, but her voice is beautiful and something about Omera just makes his body disobey every logical thought he has. He sets down the knife and turns to watch her. Leaning against the counter, he crosses his arms in front of him and smiles at the way she sways her hips and sings like no one in the world would care.

Oh, but he cares very much, blindingly so, for her.

His resolve crumbles. He comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle, pressing his chin to the crook of her neck and matches her swaying. A giggle bubbles out of her and she turns around, inexplicably covered in more flour. He takes her hand in his – which is still holding a spoon, but that’s beside the point – and he places his other hand on her waist and beings clumsily sweeping her across the kitchen. She tosses her head back with laughter and now he’s humming a song he heard in a cantina once – poorly and off key – and she steps on his toes. He doesn’t mind, and instead hoists her up so that she’s standing on his feet. She throws her arms around him and he wraps his arms around her waist.

Tilting her head up so that her lips are next to his ear she giggles, “I love you.”

He grins, his dark brown eyes are burning into hers and he answers, “I love you too… so much.”

Eventually, the birthday cake does get made and the vegetables do get chopped, but when dinner is served an hour later that night, they blame it on difficulties getting the oven to stay lit.

The next morning, Winta arises, knowing full well that it is her birthday and the rest of the day will be filled with merriment and festivities. She stretches and yawns, but something bright yellow catches her eye next to her. On her bedside table is a simple cup from the kitchen filled with bright yellow wildflowers and a small note next to it.

Her heart skips a beat at the thought of them being from Havi. There was something romantic about the thought of him sneaking into her room to leave her flowers – not that they’re dating, but she’s not stupid enough to deny that she is crushing on her childhood best friend – especially since he would have had to sneak past her parents’ room.

She catches the slip only as she reads the note in a scrawl that isn’t Havi’s:

_Happy Birthday – Din_

So, this is what it feels like to have a dad. She jokes about him being just an old man, but in so many ways he’s been filling a void in her heart that she didn’t even know she had. Tears well up in her eyes and she clutches the note tighter to her, thanking the stars for the best birthday gift ever.


	15. Pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din gets a pet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! I survived my thesis review and I am on to working on the final draft! Thank the LORD!

Din is walking through the brush, rifle slung over his shoulder as he looks for tracks. Their most recent krill harvest fell short and they don’t have enough to both eat and fill their next supply of spotchka. So, in order to eat, Din has once again found himself in the middle of the woods trying to hunt big game. Not that he minds, walking through the woods by himself is a nice way to clear his mind. He spots what looks like a nest of a wild boar and settles in some brush a safe distance away from it.

The hours tick by and before long, his stomach is rumbling. Pulling the pack off his shoulder, he takes out a sandwich that Omera had packed him. Due to their current lack of meat it is a particularly pathetic sandwich – a “sad-sammy” as Winta had called it – consisting of just bread, sauce and veggies. Either way, he’s not ungrateful and he eats it without complaint. He’s about halfway done with the sandwich when he hears a soft mewling from the bush beside him. Cocking his head to the side, he gently pushes the branches aside to reveal a small orange tooka-cat. By the looks of it, it’s not very old and is clearly the runt of the litter. It’s tiny and looks like it hasn’t had a good meal in quite some time.

Without hesitation, Din rips some of the crust off his sandwich and offers it to the little thing. It shrinks away from him, mewling in fear, but doesn’t try and swat at him. “I know you’re hungry, little guy,” Din murmurs, setting the crust in front of it.

Inching forward, the orange tabby sniffs the crust before snatching it and fleeing back into the depths of the bush. Din takes another bite of his sandwich, grimacing when it sticks to the roof of his mouth, and pulls off more crust for the creature. He sets it down and goes back to observing the den of the wild boar. A little less hesitantly this time, the cat takes the crust and gulps it down. It looks up at him with bright amber eyes and mewls expectantly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any more,” he answers, holding up his hands in a way of surrender.

That cat tilts its head to the side and then scampers off. Din smiles softly to himself before sprawling out on his belly with his rifle rested in the nook of his shoulder.

He trudges out into the woods again, grumpy that the boar never came home the night before. He stayed out in the woods, near starving to death, well into dusk, only for the boar to decide that its nest was just not worth returning to. Today, he packed twice as much food and prepared for a long day of staking out this beast. A wild boar would feed them for a week, if it would just come back…

Pulling his pack off his back and checking his rifle is in the proper configuration, he returns to his position, hidden in the brush on his stomach. The hours tick by faster than he had thought they would, and he soon finds himself in the familiar state of a rumbling stomach and sore back. As quietly as he could manage, he pulls out another bread-sauce-veggie sandwich and tries not to be disappointed when the bite sticks to the roof of his mouth, again. He huffs, taking another unsatisfactory bite when he hears mewling from the bush next to him.

Slowly, Din rolls onto his side and pushes the branches way. The orange cat has returned – unlike the boar he is hunting, he thinks bitterly – and it steps forward to him mewling. Din, without much thought, tears off more crust and hands it to the cat. It comes up and gently takes it from his fingers before sitting next to him and chomping on the crust. They repeat this until the sad-sammy is gone and Din rolls back onto his stomach saying, “Sorry, that’s all buddy.”

The cat yawns and jumps onto the small of his back. Din flinches when it starts kneading, its fine claws digging through the fabric and prodding his skin. But as soon as it starts though, it stops, and the cat is curling up in a ball and falling asleep, purring softly.

Din relaxes a little, settling in deeper to his rifle, and prepares for another long night.

Of course, the boar didn’t show _again,_ and he is beginning to wonder if it’s worth it or if he should start setting up traps everywhere in the woods and praying to whatever forces that assist in hunting work their magic. It wouldn’t be so bad if the younglings weren’t crying because they were hungry. The adults are just fine living off of a vegetarian diet for the time being, but the littlest children don’t understand and are crying with hungry bellies. He can’t stand it, can’t stand watching children in pain.

So, he trudges out into the woods for the third day in a row with a bag full of snacks and a rifle in the hunting configuration. He settles into his nest at first light and is surprised to find a little orange cat waiting for him. “Hey little man,” he greets as he plops everything down.

The cat meows in response, brushing up against his leg.

Smiling to himself, Din sits down and gives it a couple scratches behind the ear. “You’re awfully nice for being a feral cat.”

It pushes its head against Din’s hand when stops petting and he smiles again. This little furry thing is endearing, and he briefly imagines toting him home.

_NO_.

No, there are enough hungry mouths to feed in the village. A cat would just be a waste of resources.

But when he gets hungry around noon, he still shares the crust of his sandwich with the orange tabby.

The sun is just beginning to set and he’s starting to get anxious. Three days with no show? The boar must either be dead already or has nothing worth returning to in its nest. He’s beginning to lose hope when he hears snorting and branches snapping in the distance. Instantly, he sinks further into the soil and presses into the butt of the rifle. It’s now or never. As soon as that boar comes into sight, he’s taking the shot.

The beast is truly ugly, but there is meat aplenty on it. Even the husks could be sold in town for jewelry. He peers down the scope and when it steps into the crosshairs his finger pulls trigger without hesitation. The explosive sound of the round leaving the barrel of the rifle sends his small orange friend running into the bushes.

Peering down the scope again, he sees the beast climb back to its hooves and charge at him. Cursing, he chambers another round and fires. The shot makes contact, but the boar doesn’t slow down and it is rapidly approaching him. He chambers another round, checks the scope and fires, causing the boar to finally skid to a halt, collapsing in a heap. He checks the scope one last time and upon seeing that its chest is still, he lets out a huff.

“It’s okay, little man, you can come out now.”

At the sound of his voice, the orange tabby inches out of the bush, eyeing him hesitantly. “Yeah I know, that was pretty scary,” he tells the cat. “I’ve been mauled once; I don’t recommend it. Especially for someone of your size.”

The cat mewls and Din nods. “That’s what I think too.”

He sits back on his heels, stretching out his back and the cat comes and rubs up against his wrists. “I know… Now we just have to find a way to get this thing back into town.”

The cat doesn’t respond, but instead licks his trigger finger. Din chuckles and gives him a chin scratch. Rising to his feet, he pulls out the rope from his back and ties the hooves of the boar together and begins dragging it through the woods. “This is going to take forever,” he mutters, briefly considers walking all the way back to grab the speeder, and then goes back to tugging the massive creature himself. The speeder wouldn’t be able to make it through the terrain he had to climb through to get here. Plus, he doesn’t exactly want to distract anyone else from their work.

As he grunts and tugs, he nearly trips over a small orange fluff and quickly glares downward at it. “No,” he says sternly and continues huffing and puffing. But when he hears it jumping into the leaves behind him, he turns again and says, “Stay here, don’t move. You can’t come with me.”

It looks up at him, head tilted to the side but seems to understand as it doesn’t follow him the rest of the way home.

As the sun completes its decent, he emerges from the woods drenched in sweat and out of breath. “Is that you, old man?” Winta hollers at him. He gives it one final tug and then collapses to the ground panting. She jogs up to him, “For real, are you okay?” She asks as his chest heaves.

“Tell your mother I got a boar.”

She puts a hand on her hip. “And what are you going to do?”

“I’m just…” he huffs. “I’m just gonna lay here for a minute.”

She snorts. “You act like you’re out of breath or something.”

He gives his best effort to glare at her, but he’s pretty sure he just looks exerted. “Just go get your mother.”

Omera comes by with a few men, one of which being Havi, a few moments later and they carry the boar off to butcher and put in the freezer for future use. By then, Din has managed to sit upright, but he still has no intentions of moving. His arms and legs feel like jelly and his lungs are still burning. In this moment, he wonders just when he let himself get so out of shape.

“Let’s get you up and in the shower,” Omera murmurs, hauling him to his feet.

“That bad, huh?” He asks.

She laughs, but pulls him closer, nonetheless.

That night, despite his exhaustion, Din lays awake, thinking of that stupid orange cat. He is just so small and helpless. He’s fairly certain that the little guy will starve to death out there by himself. His mother clearly abandoned him, or died, leaving it orphaned and hungry. Din rolls over with a huff and tries to push it out of his mind.

The next morning, he looks like he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep and rightfully so. He was up all night thinking of that blasted creature and by breakfast, his mind is made up.

He’s going to get the cat.

With a stealth operation that he hasn’t practiced in quite some time, he sneaks into the kitchen and snatches two slices of bread, stuffs them in a pack and makes his way to the woods, walking all the way around the village instead of through the krill ponds. Before entering into the brush, he tosses a glance over his shoulder to ensure that he hasn’t been followed. Then, he sets off on his rescue mission.

His heart nearly shatters into a thousand tiny pieces when he finds the cat curled up directly where he had told it to stay. “Hey little man,” he sighs, and the cat jumps up, mewling with excitement and dancing figure eights around Din’s ankles. He opens the pack, taking out the bread and tearing the crust off for him. The cat joyfully accepts, even licking his lips after. “You might just get named Bread if you keep it up,” he mumbles, giving the cat his much-loved chin scratches.

The he stops. No, he cannot name this thing. He cannot get attached; he’s just going to take him home, nurse him back to proper health and deposit him back in the woods where he belongs.

Noticing the open pack on the ground, the cat meanders his way over and sticks his head in the pocket, only to crawl completely into it. Eventually, his little orange head pops back out and he meows with contentment. “Yeah? You ready to go?” Din stands and picks up the pack, carefully slinging it over his back.

He makes it back to the barn without incident and as soon as he lets the tabby out, he begins cat-proofing everything. Turns out, there is a lot that cats can get into. The little guy has pretty impressive high-jumping skills and he begins removing everything dangerous from the tops of cabinets when Winta walks in, broken filter in hand.

Now, the cat is quite literally out of the bag.

“What is this?” She sings, seeing Din holding the little orange terror, feeding it crust.

“Nothing if you don’t say anything,” he answers.

She saunters up to him and begins scratching the cat behind his ears. “Where did you find him?”

“When I was out hunting.”

“And you thought it would be a great idea to bring it home?”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave him,” he grumbles and feeds the baby more crust.

“Mom is going to be soooo mad at you.”

His head snaps up. “What? Why?”

“She _hates_ cats. Hates them. I’ve never seen someone hate something so much.”

He swallows thickly. “Well then… what do you suggest we do?”

“Hide it and love it unconditionally,” she grins, looking not unlike the distant relatives of his feline friend.

“Now, I only meant to keep him until he was strong enough to survive on his own.”

She scoffs. “Yeah right.”

He glares at her.

“Come on, old man, you love this little guy already. Just look at the way he curls up with you.”

She does have a point, the cat does look pleased to be here, tucked up in his arms like a baby. It nibbles at more crust and he sighs. Why, oh why, did he have to get so attached to small, cute things?

“So, do you have a name for it?” She asks.

“I wasn’t planning on naming him.”

She rolls her eyes. “You can’t just _not_ name it.”

“Yes, I can.”

She huffs. “He really likes bread.”

“Mhm. He ate the crust off the sad-sammies your mother made me,” Din mumbles as he strokes the cat. His soft orange coat has a couple bald patches and he wonders vaguely if the little guy had gotten into a few fights before he was rescued.

“Sammy. We should call him Sammy,” she smiles.

Din looks at the small orange terror with bright amber eyes and nods. “He looks like a Sammy to me.”

And so, Din and Winta’s purpose becomes trying to keep Omera from the barn or snatching the cat out of the barn before she enters. Winta is excellent at diversion and Din at stealth removal of Sammy. Somehow, it almost seems like Sammy knows he is a stowaway of sorts because every time Din stuffs him in the bag to expertly remove him before his untimely discovery, he does not once meow or cry in displeasure. However, when Omera asks him one night what he keeps toting out of the barn, he simply kisses her head and implements other forms of distraction.

He knows he doesn’t stand a chance lying to her.

Meanwhile, when they are certain that Omera is somewhere far away, helping a villager with some issue, they play with Sammy. Winta brings string for him to play with and they have far too much fun darting around the barn with it, Sammy hot on their heels. Later, Din takes an old laser scope and shines the small red dot across the floor.

Sammy goes absolutely insane.

Winta and Din are near howling with laughter when they hear someone clear their throat at the door. They both freeze and glance up at each other. They have been caught. They have been caught, and they both slowly turn to look at the mildly enraged woman standing at the door.

Omera looks like a force to be reckoned with. Her hand is on her hip and there is a scowl so intense her face, it could turn a man to stone. “What… is going on in here?”

“Would you believe us if we said nothing?” Winta smiles sheepishly.

Omera glares at her, causing the younger woman to cower and look directly at her toes.

“It’s my fault… I couldn’t turn him away,” Din confesses. “I found him while I was hunting.”

Omera looks at him, her glare not weakening with his display of honesty, albeit belated. “And you thought it would be a great idea to bring a filthy feral cat to our barn?”

“Well I wouldn’t exactly describe him as _feral_ ,” Din mutters, looking down at the cat, who was sitting just right of his boot.

“Did you find it in the forest?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s feral.”

“Yeah, but he’s so scrawny.”

Omera arches an eyebrow at him.

“Let’s just keep him until he’s a little stronger, then we can get rid of him. It’s what I told Winta I was planning to do anyway. I’m sorry I didn’t ask first. Winta said you hated cats and…” he trails off as her scowl hardens.

“Way to throw me under the speeder, old man,” Winta mutters under her breath.

“Better you than me,” he whispers.

“You two…” Omera begins and stops, snapping her jaw shut. “You two are fully responsible for this cat, and it doesn’t come in the house.”

They answer simultaneously in the affirmative and Omera stalks away.

Din and Winta share a look and then are back to playing with the cat, howling with laughter.

After being discovered, Sammy becomes quite the village celebrity. They have clear orders to keep him out of the house… but that doesn’t mean they had to keep him in _just_ the barn. Sammy quite frankly loves Din and follows him around wherever he goes, much to Omera’s disdain. Every time she sees the small, fluffy, loveable, orange bean, her nose scrunches and she stalks away.

He tries to figure out why, exactly, she hates something so cute, but the answer is never straight forward and for a brief second, he wonders if maybe he was mistaken about her having a heart. How could one just turn away something so soft and cute? So, he just gives Sammy a little extra love in her absence.

The children _love_ Sammy. When Din and the small orange tabby do get separated, it is mostly due to the fact that one of the younglings has come and stolen him away. Sammy doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, he seems to be loving the attention.

Sammy also has a knack for keeping rodents out of the barn, which Din knows Omera will never admit that she appreciates. That is, until the day Din comes up to the house, and sees Omera petting him on the front porch. She’s sitting in her chair with her loom reverently set off to the side so that she could have a better angle to give the cat his beloved chin scratches. Din says nothing, but arches a quizzical brow, to which she responds, “This changes nothing.”

He nods once, slowly, and walks the rest of the way up the porch and into the house.

She stands there, glaring at the cat and hating (but not really) the silence of Din knowing he’s right. The little guy has grown on her and really, cats aren’t _that_ bad.

That night, Sammy sleeps between their ankles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go out to @Calico for this idea. I know you said you wanted the trope of the dad not wanting a pet, but I couldn't do it. I felt like Din would be the one toting something home XD I hope this is still okay, though! <3


	16. Gunslinger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winta learns to shoot.

It is another beautiful day on Sorgan, and Din once again finds himself closing his eyes and letting the sun wash over him. There is a soft breeze in the air, the humidity is low, and the sunshine warm. He feels peace seeping through to his bones so when Winta plops down next to him, he hardly startles.

“Whatcha doin’?” she asks him, elbow on her knee, chin in her hand.

He arches an eyebrow at her and leans back to welcome more sunshine. “None of your business.”

“Well it looks like you’re doing a whole lotta nothing.”

He turns his head towards her, “And what if I am relishing in not having to do anything?”

“Well I thought… that maybe _we_ could do something?” She looks bashful, but his eyes are still closed, sunbathing like his adopted feline.

“I am not really interested in going on another honey retrieval mission today.”

“Well…” she trails off and worries her bottom lip. Her silence draws his attention and he sits upright.

“Winta, what is it?”

“Could we… maybe… I mean it’s not like you’re _busy_.”

“I’ll teach you to shoot today, if you want to.”

She beams, “Okay!”

They stand in a meadow deep within the forest, holsters strapped to their hips, blasters in hand. To Din, it feels like the most natural thing in the galaxy, how the hilt of the blaster rests in his palm. But to Winta, she can’t stop thinking about heavy the blaster is, how the weight of the cool metal seems to carry the weight of every life it could take.

“Rule one,” he begins. “Never point the barrel at something unless you intend to shoot it.”

She nods.

“Rule two, keep your finger off the trigger for the same reason,” He comes over and adjusts her grip so that her trigger finger is resting on the side of the barrel.

“How old were you?” Winta asks, lowering her blaster, but not altering her grip. “When you learned to shoot?”

He tilts his head and after a few beats of silence, he answers, “I was a lot younger than you are now.”

That isn’t quite the answer she was expecting, but she accepts it anyway.

He clears his throat and continues, “This is the safety, and this is where the blaster pack goes. When you are handed a blaster or hand a blaster to someone, always check that its unloaded and the safety is on.”

She nods slowly and states. “I have a stupid question.”

“There’s no such thing,” he replies, shaking his head slightly.

She bounces on her toes. “What _exactly_ does the safety do?”

He smirks. “It just makes sure the weapon can’t fire, but its not fool proof, so make sure you keep it pointed away anyway.”

“Okay.”

“Now,” he shifts his weight. “Stance is also important because the blaster will kick and could knock itself out of your hands if you’re not ready.”

She nods and mimicks his stance. Feet shoulders-width apart, arms extended, elbows with a natural bend, blaster pointed straight ahead, finger off the trigger. He glances over at her, breaks his stance, and comes over to adjust a few things here and there. He pushes against her shoulders, but when she hardly budges, he gives a nod of approval.

“Are you ready?” He asks. “Or do you want to go over safety and stance again?”

Her eyes widen. “I… uh… let’s go over it just one more time.”

She doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s a little nervous. He’s a _Mandalorian_ , well, he _was_. Either way, her lack of ability to shoot a blaster will probably send him to his knees with laughter. But, as she watches him teach her, she sees a true twinkle in his eyes and she realizes, quite suddenly, that he is enjoying this. That he would never, _ever_ laugh at her, that he just wants her to be safe and confident. He could spend all day just teaching her how to load and unload the blaster and he would probably happy.

She lets herself admit that she would probably be okay with that too.

After their third run through of safety procedures, Winta lets him know that she thinks she is finally ready. He simply nods and says, “Alright, load it and fire when you’re ready.”

Anxious butterflies surge in her stomach as she shoves the pack in the blaster with a well-practiced, mechanical snap. She re-aims and holds her breath.

“Both eyes open,” he murmurs.

She opens the eye she hadn’t realized she closed.

“Remember to breathe.”

She sucks in a sharp breath through her nose and on the exhale through her mouth, she pulls the trigger. The shot rings out and the blaster kicks back harder than she anticipated, but she doesn’t drop the blaster.

They both peer down range at the smoldering spot on the tree that has missed the piece of light green fabric by a couple inches.

“I hit the tree!” She gasps.

“You hit the tree!” He exclaims and pats her on the shoulder. “You did great!”

She looks over at him and he is beaming at her with the kind of pride only a father has for his daughter. She slugs him on the elbow to try and squelch the butterflies stirring in her stomach again, but for a different reason. “I’ll be rivaling you and momma in no time!”

Grinning, he shakes his head. Maybe to impress her, or maybe because he misses it, he swiftly unholsters his gun and from fires from his hip, hitting the fabric dead center.

She rolls her eyes. “Show off.”

They continue like this for the rest of the afternoon until dinner time, where Winta is so giddy she recounts their tales to her mother with an enthusiasm that Din wishes he had towards shooting things. The problem is, it had been a very long time since he had fired a weapon for just practice. Now, and for as long as he can remember, every time he fires his blaster, the target at the end of his barrel quickly becomes an added number to his body count.

He tries not to think of how high that number is.

“And so, we might move to rifle training next!” Winta says between bites, drawing Din from his thoughts.

“Oh yeah?” Omera reaches under the table, collecting Din’s hand into her own and squeezes three times.

He squeezes back with a hesitant smile. Training with Winta had been fun, just like everything with his daughter. He smiles to himself, his _daughter_ , she’d probably try and punch him if he said that out loud.

Maybe he could teach her that next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and enjoying this fic so much! It makes me happy reading all your comments and encourages me to keep writing tooth-rotting fluff! <3


	17. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What else is there to do on a rainy day, but lay in bed?

Slowly, groggily, Din awakes wondering why it is still so dark outside when his internal clock is demanding for him to get up. Then he hears the rain. It’s coming down steadily, and he can hear it plopping in the ponds that lay not too far outside of their home. Next to him, Omera stretches languidly and yawns.

“It’s raining,” she wipes the sleep from her eyes.

“Mhm.”

“We won’t be able to work in the ponds today,” she says, curling closer to him.

“No?”

She shakes her head. “Mmm, too dangerous if it starts lightninging.”

He hums in acknowledgement before he grumbles, “Well I had planned to do some things today.”

Kissing just behind his ear, she whispers, “I have some things you can do.”

“Oh?” He sighs as she kisses lower down his neck.

She hums in the affirmative as she continues down, kissing on his collarbone. He exhales sharply and he can’t help the warmth that is growing in all of his limbs. Omera has that effect on him; her touches and kisses ignite his entire body like a match in a dry forest in the middle of summer. As she pushes the blankets off him to get a better angle, he flips her over and starts kissing her like he is dying of starvation and she moans his name.

They lay in the afterglow, both curled up on their sides, facing each other. Din reaches over, brushes some hair out of her face and trails his fingers down the side of her face to her chin. “You’re so beautiful,” he barely whispers.

A smile erupts on her face and his heart nearly stops beating at her beauty. “I could say the same for you,” she presses a kiss to his palm.

He shakes his head, but the smirk on his face doesn’t dissipate. They remain silent for a few moments, listening to the rain steadily pour outside.

“Do you ever miss it?”

“Hmm?”

“Being a Mandalorian? The armor? The travel?”

He sighs, rolling onto his back as he considers the question. “I think I miss it like an amputee misses their arm.”

She sits up on her elbow, the blanket shifting to reveal more of her naked chest.

He pauses for a few moments and she doesn’t rush him. When he’s finally ready he explains, “It was a part of my life for so long… and nothing can ever make those years of training go away, it’s been ingrained into me like breathing. I miss how the armor concealed everything and I miss being a part of something bigger than myself.”

She nods, and Din doesn’t miss the flicker of hurt that flashes across her face.

“But… just like an amputee, I’ve learned to live a new life,” he pauses again. “Where I miss being tucked away in armor, I love being open with you. I love smiling with you,” he turns his head towards her and smirks. “And kissing you.”

She gives him a tender smile.

“And while I miss being a part of a clan… I’ve become part of a village instead. A community of farmers who have accepted me as a Mandalorian and as…”

“Yourself?”

He nods. “Omera, know that I don’t regret my decision.”

She rolls over and kisses him deeply again. He runs his hand up her naked back, sending shivers down her spine. She crawls on top of him and begins kissing all the scars on his body from years of fights. There are no scars on his chest, but on his sides and arms, there are many and she kisses each and every one of them. He sighs, but then his body clenches when she gets to one on the side of his stomach, just above where his pants would sit. She kisses it again and he holds his breath. A wicked smirk rises to her face and she purrs, “Din Djarin are you ticklish?”

He looks down at her but doesn’t confirm or deny her suspicions.

Feather-light, she runs her fingers over his ticklish spot and his muscles seize. Snatching her hand, he rolls over and pins her beneath him. “Two can play at this game.”

It doesn’t take him long to find her ticklish spot and it takes them even less time to dissolve into a tangle of limbs, enamored with each other’s worn body.

It’s still raining outside, and, in the distance, there are low rumbles of thunder. Omera lays on her stomach, her arms tucked under her head and Din traces small circles on her back. She hums with satiated pleasure at his touch. He’s so warm and his light touches on her back leave trails of molten lava in their wake. Turning her head to the side, she watches him touch her. His face is relaxed, and his eyes are filled with love. Vaguely, in the back of her mind, she wonders if she wears the same expression when she looks at him.

“Can I ask a question?” He murmurs after he presses a soft kiss to her bare shoulder.

“Of course,” she hums.

“I’ve been wondering about it for a while…” He runs a calloused finger down her spine. “Where did you learn to shoot as well as you do?” She hesitates and he senses it, he always does. With the words rushing out of his mouth he says, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay,” she closes her eyes and relishes in the small, methodical circles being drawn on her back. “I fought in the rebellion… I was a medic. I would go on missions with a small team and patch them back together when they inevitably got torn apart by the empire.”

He is silent, letting her tell him however much she is willing to share.

“My husband was our platoon leader. He swore to never leave a man behind, and he didn’t. He saved my life once. Our youngest member got pinned down - He was barely Winta’s age… 18? 19? Old enough to die for the cause, but not old enough to buy liquor. I went in after him, to patch him back together, but by the time I got there, he was already gone. I tried to get back out, but there was too much…” she trails off and clears her throat. “I got hit, thought I was going to die. It was one of those moments where you see your entire life flash before your eyes. You know? But then, he swooped in and hauled me away. Practically carrying me back to our ship… After that we were nearly inseparable. We had always been close, comrades in arms, but after I almost died, he said he couldn’t bear the thought of losing me.” She sighed. “Shortly thereafter we married. I loved him so much, I still do in a way. We went on a mission with our team and it was an ambush…” tears spring to her eyes. “He died in my arms that day. There was nothing I could do. His body had been severed in half from a detonator.”

Din has stopped rubbing circles and instead rests his hand on the small of her back.

“I promised myself that I would keep fighting in the rebellion, that I wouldn’t let his sacrifice be in vain… but then I found out I was pregnant with Winta and… I couldn’t let our baby grow up in the environment that murdered her father. I couldn’t do it. So, I moved here. Like you, the village welcomed me with open arms, and I’ve never looked back.”

Tears steadily stream down her face. Wordlessly, Din pulls her into his arms and lets her cry.

They doze off for a moment, but Omera wakes up first, stretching dreamily. Glancing over at Din, his eyebrows are knitted together, but he’s still fast asleep. She touches his arm lightly and he flinches. “Din,” she murmurs.

“Sorry… nightmare,” he whispers and turns on his side to face her once more.

“What about?” she asks.

He shakes his head, “Not important. It was just a dream.”

She hums and runs her hand down his arm and over a jagged scar on his bicep. “Serrated knife,” he whispers.

“Hmm?” She asks.

“That scar is from a serrated knife. I think I was twenty.”

“What happened?”

“I was cocky. Went in for a bounty, didn’t check him for weapons before I cuffed him.”

She nods and runs her hand down further to another pucker of skin. “What about this one?” the words are barely a whisper.

“Vibroblade, training accident. I was nine.”

“Nine?”

He nods. He’s never given much thought to his scars, no one has ever seen them except himself and he can only hope that they don’t scare her or elicit unwarranted sympathy. These scars are part of him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way, except maybe the blaster bolt that went through his side, that hurt, and the job wasn’t even worth it.

She goes down to his hand and looks at the scars across his knuckles, clearly from fights, but there is one across his thumb and she arches her eyebrow at him.

His eyebrows furrow in return and she is expecting a harrowing tale when he answers, “Kitchen knife,” a smirk curves the edge of his mouth and he continues, “slippery potato.”

She laughs out loud and tucks herself into his collar bone. He laughs too, and she can feel the vibrations of that joyous sound through her body. “Speaking of potatoes,” she murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss on his bare chest.

“I’m pretty hungry too,” he whispers.

“I think I might have some snacks in the kitchenette,” she gets up from the bed and simply wraps the sheet around herself. “Good thing Winta stayed with Rhia last night.”

Din lays on the bed and watches her walk away, “Good thing indeed.”

Then she drops the sheet and gives him a cheeky smile.

The storm outside has gotten worse and rounds of thunder and lightning are reverberating through and illuminating their home. Din runs his fingers through her hair and when a particularly loud roll of thunder cracks, they both flinch. “You would think it would get easier,” she whispers. He remains silent and eventually she continues. “After years of being away from the fight, you would think it would get easier.”

“It’s okay to be afraid,” he whispers. “It keeps us human.”

“I’m terrified for Winta some days,” she whispers. “There is always a new war to be fought… What if one day she feels the call to arms? She’s not ignorant, not being around us. She knows she could fight if she needed to… wanted to.”

Din is silent and his hand stills in her hair. “Let’s just hope that day never comes… And if it does, we’ll make sure she’s ready.”

Omera curls up closer to him. “Just because she can use a blaster, doesn’t mean she’s ready to kill someone.”

He presses a kiss to her hair. He knows exactly what she’s talking about. He still remembers the first time he killed someone, can still see life drain from their eyes. Suddenly feels protective over them, over his small, found family. He’s lost his family twice, watched his people be slaughtered in front of his own eyes. His heart sinks to his stomach thinking of losing them too. Squeezing her tighter to him, he says a silent prayer that war never finds them on this backwater planet.

Eventually, the rain stops. They aren’t paying attention; they are too busy worshiping each other when they hear Winta running up the stairs to their home. Quickly, they scramble for the first pieces of clothing they can find and huddle under the covers.

“I brought home soup from the long hall!” Winta calls, setting it down heavily on the coffee table in the front room.

Omera smooths down her hair and under the covers, Din yanks on his shirt. “That sounds good, baby!” she calls.

Just as they finish putting themselves back together, Winta is at the door to their room. “Are you guys just getting up for the day? It’s dinner time.”

Omera nods. “It was just a nice day relaxing.”

Winta hums and comes in to sit on their bed. “I wish I could say the same. Rhia and her boyfriend broke up, so everything was just so _dramatic_ ,” Winta continues her story with flailing hands and exasperated sighs. Omera smiles and rests her head on Din’s shoulder. He wraps his hand around her waist and for a second they are both thinking the same thing.

There is nothing to worry about now. There’s no war on the horizon and Winta is still a teenager with teenage problems. She still has dramatic stories to tell and emotions to feel. She won’t be like them; she won’t kill someone before she’s old enough to drink and she won’t watch her husband die in her arms.

“Why are you guys looking at me like that?” Winta asks, hauling to a complete stop in her story telling.

“Like what?” Din asks.

“I don’t know, but its weird. Stop it.”

“We just love you,” Omera sighs.

Winta rolls her eyes and gets up with a huff, “So mushy. I can’t stand either of you.” She exits the room only to come with the canister of soup and three bowls. “But I guess I love you too.”

Din’s heart clenches because he loves her, so much. He loves his daughter and he loves her mother and he loves his life. Omera leans over and pecks him on the cheek and they continue to listen to Winta’s dramatic recounting of Rhia slapping her boyfriend and calling him every curse word under the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3 <3 I'll try to get to some more prompts y'all have sent me here soon! <3 <3


	18. Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winta finally says it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So this chapter is a lil more angsty than what I usually write. Please be aware that there are some graphic depictions of violence and assault. I tried my best to brush over it for the most part, though.

Another harvest has come and gone, and, with its success, another party comes to pass. Anyone who is willing to celebrate drives into town to go to the cantina and revel in a few days of relaxation. Winta and a hand full of friends have been immensely excited for another night of dancing and drinking and as soon as they pull into the town, they run off to enjoy the evening.

Sliding off the back of the wagon, Din offers a hand to Omera to help her down. She grins and accepts before wrapping her arm around his waist and walking off to the cantina with the love of her life. Neither of them are too keen on drinking and dancing like the young ones, but they are excited for a change of pace and a few nights in town seem like an excellent way to blow off some steam.

They saunter up to the bar, order a drink for each of them and prepare to chat the night away. It’s been a year to the day since Din came home and he tells Omera how tonight reminds him of that night because the same boy who had been dancing with Winta then – Havi, as it would turn out – is dancing with her now.

“Oh yes, he’s been fond of her for some time. I keep waiting for him to eventually get the nerve to ask her out,” Omera comments, taking a sip of the spotchka.

Din blanches at the thought. “He’s a good kid, right?” The young boy spins her around and around and catches her waist to bring her back into the frame of the dance. The two younglings are completely oblivious to the world around them, but to the side of them, Din can’t help but notice a burly man watching them. He doesn’t look like a krill farmer. In fact, he doesn’t look like he belongs on Sorgan at all.

Omera smiles to herself, “He’s always been one of my favorites.”

He nods and observes the crowd; it looks to be mostly people celebrating harvest fest, fellow farmers among their villagers. The man sitting to the side, eyeing Winta like a slab of meat to be consumed, looks more like a mercenary or a bounty hunger and less like a peaceful dweller of Sorgan. The song ends and Havi asks Winta something. She grins, nods, and points to the door. He nods too before turning and running up to the bar.

“Hi, two spotchkas please,” he asks the bartender, who nods and turns away. Din is still watching the man who gets up and exits out the same door that Winta just went through. His suddenly stomach churns with the familiar feeling of trouble. He hasn’t felt it in a while, but there is no denying it. Something is off.

“We’re doing well,” Omera tells Havi as she motions to Din, who is now rising from his barstool.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs and Omera wants to ask him where he’s going, but Havi is asking her another question.

Din easily maneuvers through the crowd of people, it’s so much easier to do without being clad head to toe in shiny armor. He walks out through the door, the humid night air covering him like a hot, wet, blanket. His fingers twitch at his hip for the blaster he knows isn’t there as the churning in his stomach worsens.

“Get off of me,” Winta struggles against the man pressing himself against her outside the hut. They are in the shadows, just out of the reach of the light from inside the tavern. “I said, get off of me!” She shoves him again and he catches her wrists. He forces her up against the wall of the cantina and she thrashes against him. Just when she thinks she’s about to be overpowered and she’s about to start shrieking for help – the man is drug off her with dizzying speed. She hardly needs to see who it is before she knows who came to her aid. Din.

In the year that he had been here, she, like her mother, has grown overly attached to the man. She has never had a father figure in her life, and in many ways, Din has slowly creeped into the role for her. He held her hair for her once when she had the stomach flu and was puking her guts out. He brought her flowers on her birthday. He made her feel loved in a way that she had never felt before.

“She said leave her alone,” Din growls as he throws the man down the steps of the tavern.

The man stumbles up, clearly having drank one too many spotchkas. “And who do you think you are?” He slurs.

Din says nothing and his eyes narrow as he descends the steps with a sort of swaggering effortlessness that makes him look even more intimidating. His heart is thundering in his chest and he takes a deep breath to try and center himself. He’s not one to start a fight, but the anger pulsing through him makes him want to reconsider. If he had been one minute too late. If he hadn’t been paying attention at all. He clenches his fists at the thought.

The brute of a man swings first, and Din easily counters the blow. He is old and maybe a little out of practice, but a lifetime of training is hard to wash away with one year as a krill farmer. The man couldn’t have been more obvious with his attack. Din punches him swiftly in the nose and grimaces as blood spews everywhere; he should have aimed for the orbital socket.

Maybe he is too old for this.

Sputtering, the man stumbles backward and pulls a blaster. Everyone freezes.

“Winta,” Din calls, putting himself safely between them. “Go inside.”

But she is frozen. She can hardly hear him over her pulse pounding through her ears. As she watches the fight unfold before her eyes, her gut twists with a feeling of uselessness that she has never once experienced before in her entire life.

Din lunges forward, a shot rings out, and the two men fall to the ground. Two more shots ring out and Winta’s vision tunnels to the heap of two bodies on the ground. “No! DAD! No!” She shrieks and leaps from the steps. Sliding next to them on her knees, she rolls her father over. Her mind is already playing out worst case scenarios, he’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He's alive. He winces at the motion, sighing heavily, and she swallows down the bile rising in her throat. He is covered in blood. She’s never seen blood like this, splattered all over someone, and her mouth stings with stomach acid. “Dad?” She chokes, patting him with shaking hands.

“It’s not mine,” he rasps, laying his head back in the grass.

“You’re hurt,” she croaks, seeing where he is clutching his side.

“I’ll be okay,” he removes his hand from his side to reveal his torn tunic where the blaster bolt barely grazed him – just tearing his skin open.

“What about,” she goes to turn her head and look at the attacker, but Din catches her cheek.

“Don’t look at him. Keep your eyes on me, okay?”

Tears are welling up in her eyes and she isn’t certain if she could see anyway if she had looked. Her dad is just a smear of color right now, anyway.

“I was so scared,” she rasps.

“Me too, baby, me too,” he strokes his thumb across her cheek.

“Winta!?” Omera cries, pushing through the crowd of onlookers that have gathered. “Din!? Winta?!” She breaks through the crowd and rushes to them.

“We’re okay,” he reassures, trying to push himself up with his joints protesting vehemently. He lets out a soft groan, causing both women to jump under his shoulders and haul him up.

“You don’t sound okay,” Omera chides.

He sighs. “I’ll live… I’m too old for bar fights.”

This causes Winta to giggle, the adrenaline leaving her shaking and what she would consider delirious.

Omera stops. “Winta, take him back home. I’m going to see if I can scrounge up some bacta,” she glances behind them at the body. “And maybe clean this up.”

Back at the hut, Winta slowly lowers him to his side of the bed and then runs off to get some fresh water and cloth to clean the wound. She kneels by his side to begin when he catches her wrist. She flinches at first, half expecting him to be the man from the bar, but when she relaxes when he speaks, “I’ll be okay.”

The three words, she doesn’t know why, maybe it is the look of pure love in his eyes, but she bursts into tears. “I’m so sorry!”

He sits up swiftly and pulls her to his chest, smoothing down her fluffy ringlets as she hiccups. She breathes him in and is comforted by the distinct smell of _home_ – krill and her mother’s soap combined with a tinge that she has simply come to recognize as her dad.

“It’s- It’s all my fault. I-I shouldn’t…”

He pushes her away and, clutching her shoulders, he sternly says, “Winta.” Her eyes snap up to meet his. “Listen to me. None. None of this is your fault.”

She wipes her eyes with her palm and nods. “Thank you… for saving me.”

His eyebrows scrunch together, and he pulls her into another hug. “I’ll always protect my family.”

She throws her arms around him and hiccups, “Dad, I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” he murmurs and squeezes her tight. His heart feels like it might explode. She has never used that title before, and quite frankly he isn’t certain if he is deserving of it. He squeezes her tighter yet and makes a silent vow to be the best father he can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading another chapter! Writing these lil guys is my favorite way to blow off some steam <3


	19. Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Havi gets up the nerve and Din makes some threats.

Winta is standing in the hip-deep in the water, re-seeding the ponds for a fresh harvest. The sun is glinting off of her dark longs, turning them several shades of auburn and chestnut, and braided into her hair is bright magenta fabric that Din had gotten her for the Winter Solstice. Havi swallows thickly and goes back to stirring the brew of spotchka they are making for the next harvest. She’s so beautiful, so _insanely_ beautiful; he’s fairly certain he’s never seen anything more beautiful and it’s unfair because he’s just plain average. He’s tall and lanky, his dark hair just never lays right, and he can’t even grow a proper beard.

He’s been thinking about it for a while, asking Winta out, but she’s his best friend and honestly, he thinks he would rather die than lose their friendship. But at the same time, what would be better than dating his best friend? As he stirs the blue liquid, he imagines her lips on his and he nearly melts into a puddle right then and there.

“Hey, Havi!” He’s jolted from his daydream by the subject of that fantasy beaming at him.

_Stars almighty, give me strength_. “Hey, what’s up?” His voice cracks. He remembers when he was younger, and his voice was starting to change how she incessantly teased him for it. Now, her smile – and he didn’t think this was possible – brightens at the sound and nearly blinds him.

“Nothin’, just came to bother you.”

“Like you could ever bother me,” he shrugs and sets down the paddle they use to stir the drums.

Her smile doesn’t falter as she leans against the drum, basket in hand. “Are you still thinking about applying for that pilot school?”

His immediate answer is no, that he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his best friend behind, but that seems way too clingy and the last thing he wants is for her to get the wrong idea so he shrugs and says, “It’s probably not the best idea.”

“Why not?”

He leans against the drum to match her nonchalance. “I don’t know, I’d feel bad leaving you guys in the middle of a harvest and who knows when I would be able to come back. Plus, who would want a kid who has just farmed krill for his whole life?”

Her eyebrows crinkle in that adorable way when she’s thinking really hard and his heart knocks against his ribcage. “That’s stupid Havi and you know it.”

He scoffs, “What?”

“We would be just fine without you… Wait no, I didn’t mean it that way,” she huffs and rolls her eyes. “What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t let us stop you from following your dreams, besides…” she reaches up and takes his arm. “They would be lucky to have you.”

His palms start sweating and he looks down at his feet and then back up at her. She’s smiling tenderly and he wants to ask, the words are on his tongue. Then she says, in typical Winta fashion, “That is until you get homesick because you miss me so much.”

“You’re right, I would miss you.”

They pause and her eyes flick to his lips. Laughing it off, he says, “Without you constantly knocking me down a few pegs, how would I keep myself a modest and respectable man?” He picks the paddle back up to give his hands something to do.

“I would holochat you, just to keep you modest and respectable,” she shrugs, turning to walk away.

The words blurt out before he can get a handle on himself. “Winta, do you want to have a picnic or something?”

She whirls around, eyeing him and he is instantly filled with regret. He just ruined their friendship; with one selfish question everything is ruined. His best friend will think he’s a creep who just wants to get under her skirts.

“Tomorrow?” She asks instead and he nearly falls over.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

She shifts her weight and moves the basket from one hip to the other. “You’ll make those super awesome sandwiches that I like?”

“Of course.”

She glances down at her feet and then back up at her through her lashes. “Then I guess it’s a date.”

“Yeah,” his voice cracks again. “I guess it is.”

Din and Omera are in the barn, enjoying the shade of being inside. He is standing at the workbench, tinkering with a filter for one of the spotchka barrels and Omera is weaving, humming quietly under her breath. Moments like this are his favorite, when Omera is relaxed enough to start humming. He loves the sound of her voice, her humming combined with the ambient sounds of their village just set his soul at ease. That is until a raging Winta bursts through the door.

“MOM!”

They both nearly jump out of their skin at the sound, Din dropping whatever tool was in his hand and Omera nearly knocking her loom over. “Winta, for the love of all that is good in the universe what is it?” Omera exclaims, hand over her chest, trying to catch her breath.

“MOM! HAVI ASKED ME ON A DATE!” Winta’s eyes are wide with what could either be excitement or terror.

“What!?” Omera jumps up with excitement.

“What?” Din echoes with far less excitement.

“HAVI ASKED ME ON A DATE!!” She’s jumping around the barn now, a complete spectacle of pure, unbridled joy.

“This is great! I’m so happy for you!” Omera beams. “What will you two be doing?”

She grins and twirls around, “We’re going on a picnic!”

Din blanches at the thought of her alone, in the woods with a young man. He, of course, knows that it is _just_ Havi… but this is _Winta_. His daughter. If anything were to happen to her, he’s fairly certain he would lose whatever firm grasp he has on his anger and murder whoever harmed her without remorse.

Suddenly Winta is pale too, and Din is worried that he missed something in their squeals of excitement. “Mom, what will I wear!?”

Omera shrugs. “It’s just Havi… He’s seen you in far worse.”

“No! Mom! This is a _date_. I can’t just wear my grubby farm clothes!”

“Grubby farm clothes? Is that what you think of the dresses I make you?”

“MOM!” Winta exclaims with exasperation. “You know that’s not what I mean!”

“I know, I know. Baby, don’t worry about it. I’m sure we’ll find you something.”

Winta goes back to prancing around the barn, “He asked me on a date!”

Omera glances over at Din and he tries to school his face into something that doesn’t express the pure horror he is feeling. Going over to him, she slips her hand in his and says, “It will be okay.”

The next day, when Havi goes to pick up Winta for their date, he’s a bundle of nerves. In the basket he’s carrying, he has sandwiches – hers with the crust cut off, she would never admit it but he knows that she prefers sandwiches without crust – a canteen of water, and some sweet pastries his mom had made the other day.

He finally makes it to their home and his stomach clenches. Standing outside, his ankles crossed, and his arms folded across his chest, is her dad. He swallows thickly and ascends the stairs to the front door. “Good afternoon, sir,” he all but croaks out.

“Havi,” he greets with a nod.

“I’ll have her home at a decent hour, sir.”

He simply nods in response.

_This isn’t so bad_ , Havi thinks to himself and in a minute of – mostly stupid – bravery, he asks. “Aren’t you supposed to, like, threaten me or something?”

Din slowly turns his head back to face Havi and the young man instantly regrets his cockiness. “I don’t need to threaten you. Winta has a blaster and she’s a better shot than me or her mother,” he stands up straight and looks down at Havi. “But if I find out she has to use it… Just pray she has as good of aim as I say she does.”

He swallows again as Winta comes bounding out of the house. “Are you ready?” She asks. Her hair has been braided up into a lose bun, no doubt the work of her mom, and is wearing the cerulean dress that she knows is his favorite. Underneath she is wearing her green tights and a long sleeve green shirt. She’s carrying a duffle full of blankets and pillows and his heart begins to race again at the thought of her curled up in his arms.

“Yeah,” he smiles.

She breezes past him, down the steps and Havi looks back one more time at Din. “I promise I’ll never do anything to hurt her. She’s my best friend.”

“We know Havi, go have fun,” Omera smiles, taking Din’s elbow into her hands.

  
The two teenagers walk through the forest, golden light illuminating them in an ethereal glow. When they reach a small opening covered in wildflowers, Winta throws down her blankets and begins fluffing her pillows as Havi unpacks their sandwiches.

He hands Winta hers and she grins. “You cut the crust off for me.”

Smiling, he looks down, “Of course.”

“But you love the crust.”

He glances up and arches an eyebrow at her. “So?”

“You always eat my crust for me.”

He chuckles.

“I’m not ungrateful… It’s just,” she blushes. “Thanks.”

He nods and takes a bite of his lunch. He stretches his neck up and appreciates the warm glow of the afternoon sunlight. “It’s beautiful outside today,” he comments.

“Are we really going to talk about the weather?” She asks.

“Well, what do you propose we talk about?”

She shrugs, mouth full of sandwich.

Din paces back and forth across the porch and Omera sits calmly in her rocking chair, working on her weaving. “Din, sit down before you wear a hole in the porch,” she says without looking up from her work.

His head snaps up. “How are you so calm about this?”

She sighs, “It’s Havi.”

“And?”  
“They’ve been friends for years. Nothing bad is going to come of this.”

He sighs and drops down next to her. “I guess I just… naturally worry.”

She leans over and kisses him on the cheek. “That’s why I love you.”

They have finished eating and are now laying on their backs, looking up at the sky, making shapes out of the clouds. Havi’s blood is pounding in his ears because Winta’s fingers are just barely grazing his. He doesn’t dare move, in fear of spooking her further away… or having her draw her blaster on him and giving her dad a reason to kill him.

“Havi,” she looks over at him. The sun catches her eyes just right, revealing the honey highlights just around her pupil.

“Yeah?” He breathes.

“Why do you want to be a pilot?”

“Well,” he sighs. “Think of how much fun it would be to fly, to be up with the clouds, the stars. Plus,” he sits up on his elbow, rolling over to face her. “If I become a merchant pilot, I can transport our own spotchka brews and we don’t have to worry about paying such a big cut to Lorel. Then maybe we can actually buy nice things for our village. Like holonet access or better spotchka barrels or-” He’s cut off when she grabs his collar and brings his lips to hers. He’s caught completely off guard, but quickly recovers and places a gentle hand to the side of her face.

“Go to pilot school. Promise me you’ll apply,” she murmurs against his lips.

“But I don’t want to leave you,” he confesses, not opening his eyes.

She presses her lips to his again, sweet and chaste. “You’re a dreamer Havi, you always have been. You have to do this. You wouldn’t be happy if you didn’t.”

“And what about you?”

“Nora is going to have me start teaching the children next year. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“No, I mean…” he trails off and looks down.

“Hey,” she takes his chin into her hand and notes the feeling of recently shaved stubble. She smirks, remembering when he first grew a stupid moustache that just made his lip look dirty. He shaved it off after her frequent proclamations of disdain. “You’re my best friend. It wouldn’t be a ‘goodbye’… just a ‘see ya later’.”

He kisses her again. “Is it too soon to tell you I love you?”

She giggles and kisses him back. “I think I’ve loved you since you rescued me from that tree that I thought I could climb.”

He laughs and presses his lips to hers. “You were what, twelve?”

“Something like that,” she kisses him again.

“You climbed all the way to the top and got too scared to climb back down,” he presses another soft kiss to her lips.

“You were so frustrated with me. Climbed all the way to the top and carried me back down,” she laughs. “You were what? Fifteen?”

“Something like that,” he presses another kiss to her lips and threads his hand through her hair, not bothering to care that he is messing up her delicate updo.

The sun is beginning to set and to say that Din is a ball of nerves would be the understatement of the millennia. He keeps himself seated for fear of being scolded by Omera again, so instead he rocks violently in his rocking chair, picking at some stray fabric on his shirt.

“Shouldn’t they be back by now?”

“I haven’t heard a gunshot, so I’m assuming all is well,” Omera hums, a vision of calm.

He shoots a look at her.

“I saw the blaster you put in her bag. I’m not blind.”

He sighs. “Can never be too careful.”

“Din Djarin, prepared for every situation, including handsy teenage boys,” she laughs.

“Handsy teenage boys!” He rockets from his chair.

“Calm down,” Omera scolds. “Oh look, looks like our happy couple is on their way back home.”

Havi and Winta emerge from the woods. Din doesn’t miss the fact that her hair is now down in fluffy, soft ringlets, where it had once been pulled up. He also doesn’t miss that their hands are interlocked or that they are both grinning at each other like lovesick fools.

After dinner that night, Din is out in the barn, still fussing with the broken filter. If he can’t get it back up and running, he’s afraid that they may have to buy a new one, which will seriously cut into their profits.

“Knock knock,” he hears at the door and turns to see a smiling Winta.

“Hey,” he sets everything down as she enters, and they move to sit on the crates. “Is everything alright?”

She nods. “I just wanted to thank you.”

“For?”

She bumps his shoulder with her own. “For making Havi think I’m a good enough shot to spare him your wrath.”

He snorts. “He told you?”

“He tells me everything,” she looks at her hands.

“He sounds like a good man.”

“He is… he reminds me a little of you.”

He thinks of all the terrible things he is and used to be and his heart sinks. Winta deserves better than someone like him, so does Omera for that matter.

“He’s respectful, kind, polite,” she says. “He looks at me like you look at mom, he remembers the smallest things like you do…” she trails off.

“Wow so many compliments, are you feeling okay?” He presses the back of his hand to her forehead and she jabs him in the side in response. They’re laughing and she gets up, moving back to the door.

“Dad,” she turns back to face him, and he stands. “Thanks for always having my back.”

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so so much for the continued comments and kudos! I know lots of you have been asking for a chapter where we break down some of Din's insecurities. Well, good news! It's the next chapter... I just have to write it! 
> 
> Please, if y'all have any more prompts, send them my way! I promise I'll get to them eventually!


	20. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din finally tells Omera how he feels.

Din awakes with a start for the third night in a row, heart pounding, sweat causing his hair to slick to his forehead. Omera, just like the past three nights, wakes up with him. “What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep.

“Nightmare. Go back to sleep,” he sighs, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

“Din,” she says and the sternness in his voice causes him to look up at her. “You can talk about your nightmares with me, you know. What haunts you… haunts me too.”

He shakes his head, “It’s just a dream.”

She rubs her thumb across his chin. “Din…”

With a sigh, he rasps, “I dream of losing you.”

She gives him a tender smile. “I’m not going anywhere, love.”

“No, I know,” he looks down and threads his fingers through hers. “Everything I’ve loved has… died… or...” he thinks about giving up his son because its what his creed mandated. He thinks of how his heart felt as if it had been physically ripped from his chest when the Jedi carried him away while his son cried.

He doesn’t look her in the eyes and she gently runs her fingers through his hair. Its grayer at the temples than when he first moved here, but he wears it well. She’s not certain what to say to comfort him, nightmares have a way of making every rational thought seem completely the opposite. So, instead, she draws him into her chest. “I’m here now.”

This seems to be enough because he relaxes and wraps his arms around her, pulling her tighter to him. “Sometimes…” he begins. “Sometimes I worry I’m not good enough for you and Winta… That I don’t do enough for you both,” the words rush out of him and he feels an odd sense of relief finally saying them out loud. “That I don’t deserve a life this peaceful.”

Omera twirls the hair at the nape of his neck. “Din,” she kisses the top of his head and wraps her leg around his waist, bringing him into a full-body hug. “Listen to me. You are enough. You are more than enough. You are…” she pauses, and he can hear the emotion in her voice. “You are everything we have ever needed. And we aren’t going anywhere.” She presses another kiss into his hair. “And don’t ever think you don’t deserve this life. You’re stuck with us now.”

He huffs a laugh into her collarbone and squeezes her tight. No other words need to be exchanged. He loves her and she loves him. He came home and she welcomed him with open arms. There may be more heart break in their lives. Eventually, one of them will die, leaving the other, but that’s not today. It most likely won’t be tomorrow either.

They fall back asleep and Din has his first night of peaceful sleep in several days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not happy with how this chapter turned out, but I hope y'all enjoyed it anyway! Thanks for reading and leaving sweet comments :)


	21. Husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din gets mistaken for Omera's hubby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so since we're all quarantined I thought I would share another, fluffier, update. It's inspired from a suggestion from @Calico so I hope y'all enjoy.

Today is another gorgeous day, and as both Din and Omera get dressed, she turns to ask him, “Would you like to go into town today?”

He pauses with his hands around his waistband and asks in return, “What for? Do we need something?”

She shakes her head, “No, just thought we could spend some time meandering through the market stalls.”

He nods once and then answers, “I don’t see why not, if no one will miss us in the ponds.”

“I’m sure they could manage for one day.”

“I’ll ask if anyone needs the speeder and we can head out,” he says as he haphazardly runs his hands through his hair. This makes her smile because, one would think that after a year of not wearing a helmet, he would learn to do his hair. No, he simply runs his hands through it and runs out the door. She doesn’t mind though; it just makes him look endearingly ruffled every day.

On his way out, he leans over and gives her a quick peck on the cheek before he exits. She smiles and then looks at her feet, blushing. Every time he kisses her, butterflies flutter in her stomach and she’s fairly certain that feeling will never go away, because she loves him so, _so_ much.

“Hey,” Din says, jogging lightly to catch up with Winta and Havi.

“Hi, Mr. Djarin, sir,” Havi stumbles, suddenly putting distance between him and his girlfriend.

“What’s up, pops?” Winta nods, stepping closer to Havi.

“Are you guys using the speeder at all?”

Winta arches an eyebrow. “Why?”

“No sir,” Havi answers.

“Great, thanks,” he slaps Havi on the arm and walks off.

“Hey!” Winta shouts.

He turns and looks at her incredulously. “What?”

“I didn’t say _I_ wasn’t using it.”

His face flattens and his lips purse slightly. “Are _you_?”

“No.”

Sighing, he rolls his eyes and stalks off to go ask a couple other people if the speeder is free today.

Omera meets him on the edge of the village carrying a bag full of stuff for a picnic and the few credits they have between them in case they find something actually worth buying. He’s checking the fluids and other gauges as she approaches and when she gets close enough for him to hear her, he looks up and smiles. It’s a tender kind of smile, one that he only really shares with her. 

The butterflies in her stomach return and her heart hammers in her chest. Oh, she loves him. “Are we ready to go, captain?”

He chuckles and snaps the hood down on the speeder. “Yes ma’am,” he offers her a hand up into the passenger’s seat and she settles in with her bag on her lap.

Climbing into the driver's seat, he starts it up and asks, “What gave you this idea today?” 

“Just felt like spending some time with you.”

He smiles and shoots her a glance as he puts it in gear, “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

By the time they get into town, the sun is high in the sky. After they park the speeder, Omera links her fingers with Din’s and they stroll through the booths. His hands are calloused, but so are hers. Idly, she thinks to herself how they both led such different lives, but their hands are the same. _They_ are the same. Greyed, weathered, loved, _loving_. As if sensing her thoughts, he pulls her hand up to his mouth and gives it a quick kiss before settling it down at their side.

Her heart flutters again. A year ago, he would never had made such a bold move. Now, he has grown used to initiating physical demonstrations of love and she _adores_ it. She especially loves the cheeky, little grin he gets when he starts something. Like right now, where his lips turn up, his eyes crinkle and flicker over to her.

Oh, she _loves_ him.

In the market, there is bouncing music playing down one of the rows, smiling vendors offering samples of the food they are roasting, and beautiful fabrics hanging from a few of the booths. It is the perfect day to be out and about. Eyeing a vibrant orange fabric, Omera walks up to it and runs her fingers over it gently.

“It’s very pretty,” Din murmurs at her side.

“Winta loves the color, I think I could make a nice dress for her.”

“It is some of my best fabric,” the shopkeeper says, giving her a toothy grin. “It is guaranteed to make a beautiful anything.”

“How much is it?” Din asks.

When the woman says the price, they both sputter and politely leave the booth. They don’t have that many credits and they certainly weren’t planning on buying anything _that_ frivolous. However, when they set up their blanket just outside the market so they can enjoy their packed lunch, they both realize that they forgot the canteen of water. Afterall, on a day on the town, would it really be such a tragedy to buy some of the freshly squeezed juice being sold on the corner booth?

Din decides its definitely worth it and rolls to his knees. “I’ll be right back,” he says.

She rises up a little and he slouches just a little and they share a quick peck. “Please do. Last time you said that, you took a blaster bolt to the belly,” and she pokes his stomach and he lurches – she now knows his ticklish spot and it is both a blessing and a curse.

“I promise,” he kisses her forehead and stands the rest of the way up. She watches him walk away, mostly because he just looks so _good_ doing it. She is reminded, briefly, of a song that spoke about hating to see someone leave, but love watching them go.

She finally understands, watching him and his swaggering gate.

That is until some stands in front of her blocking her view. She looks up, and her heart sinks into her stomach. “Tarek,” she bites.

“Omera, nice seeing you here on such a wonderful day.”

“I wish I could say the same for you,” she huffs, rising to her feet. She had no desire to be anywhere near her knees in front of him.

“So bitter? I didn’t think we ended things that way.”

She glares at him. There’s a blaster in her bag, she knew Din would feel more comfortable travelling with it, but she doesn’t want to start a blaster fight if she doesn’t have to.

“I thought about coming to visit you, in your tiny farming village,” he picks at his teeth. “Thought maybe we could pick up where we left off?”

“So, I take it you like being kicked in the groin then?” She puts her hand on her hip and tries to look as menacing as possible.

“Sweetie,” he sneers. “You know me better than that.”

“Everything okay here?” Din asks, stepping up behind Tarek. Omera sighs a breath of relief.

“Tarek, this is my husband, Din,” she goes over and wraps her hands around his bicep. She notes instantly how warm and solid he is, but quickly pushes those thoughts from her mind.

“Your husband?” He sputters.

Din says nothing, but stands there and looks fierce, like he could snap a man’s neck without so much as breaking a sweat. Which, in his prime, he probably could have.

“Yes,” Omera snaps. “Now please leave us alone so that we can enjoy our day in peace and without the terrible stench you bring around.”

His nose scrunches up and he stalks away without any more protest. Omera sighs with relief and sits down on the blanket, but Din is hesitant to do the same. His hand has a white-knuckled grip on the canteen and his shoulders are hunched up to his ears.

“Din,” Omera coos and his head snaps down to her.

“Who was that?” he bites.

“Just some ex,” she sighs, unwrapping their sandwiches. “He and I dated for a little while… Clearly, he was quite the catch.”

He huffs and sits down. “I don’t like the way he talked to you,” he murmurs as he pours them two glasses.

“Yes, well, neither did I. That’s why we split…” she reaches across the blanket and takes his calloused hand into hers. “Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

He sighs and lets the tension melt from his shoulders. “Okay,” he nods. “Okay.”

The rest of the day is spent with peaceful conversations and companionable silence. When the sun finally begins its decent, they load the speeder back up and head home. They arrive back to the village just in time to have dinner in the long hall and Winta is elated to see them back.

“There they are! How was the town?” She steps in between them and throws her arms around their shoulders.

“Fantastic,” Omera smiles and wraps her left arm around Winta’s waist.

“We got something for you,” Din says, wrapping his right arm just above Omera’s.

“Aww, you shouldn’t have.”

“It’s nothing special, so don’t get too excited,” he says.

She stops walking, “Well let’s see it then!”

Omera smiles and pulls out a small bag of taffy that Winta loves. “Here,” she places it in her daughter’s hand.

“Yes!” She shouts and does a little twirl. “I was hoping it was this! Thanks guys,” she gives them both a quick peck on the cheek and runs off after Havi, shouting for him to look at what she got.

“I really wish I had half of her energy,” Din mumbles.

“Me too,” she chuckles and threads her arm around him.

He wishes that he could just push the events from earlier today out of his mind, but like a bad credit chip, they just keep showing up. He can care less about Torkin – or whatever his name is – but what he keeps wriggling into his mind is that Omera called him her husband. He is not, in fact, her husband and the thought had never really occurred to him before. But he didn’t oppose the title; it did, however, excite him a little. Her husband? He could only hope to honor her in such a way. And when they lay in bed that night, her heavy breathing seems to hum the word _husband_ over and over again.

Two weeks later when the next spotchka brew is ready, Din and Omera ask Havi and Winta if they would like to come along. Winta joyfully agrees, and Havi asks if he can drive.

To that Din grudgingly agrees.

The kid is trying to get as many flight hours in before applies to pilot’s school and he can’t help but let him learn. Din knows full well that he has a soft spot for helping kids learn. It’s been ingrained in him ever since he can remember. In fact, some of his fondest memories are of his son doing something for the first time. So, when push comes to shove, he easily surrenders his driver’s seat and lets Havi take the wheel. Lucky for him, though, Havi doesn’t seem like the kind to take advantage of his kindness.

If anything, the kid is petrified of him, something Din both _thoroughly_ enjoys and sort of hates. It’s nice to terrify his daughter’s boyfriend, not so nice to see his eyes literally triple in size at seeing him.

Either way, that is how Din and Omera end up in the wagon with the Spotcha while Havi drives a little more erratically than Din would have cared for. Omera curls up on his shoulder and whispers just for him to hear, “Havi’s driving makes me nauseous.”

He chuckles lightly, “Me too.”

Eventually, they make it to town and Din resists the urge to collapse to his knees and kiss the ground. It’s not that Havi is a _bad_ driver, he just drives and is fast on the gear shift – causing the speeder to lurch in the most nausea-inducing manner.

Their first stop is at Lorel’s – a portly woman who is, in general, nice but always drives hard bargains. “Omera!” She chortles upon seeing her slide out of the wagon with Din. Lorel is about as tall as she is round with her dirty blonde hair pulled straight back in a tight bun and her face flushed from the Sorgan heat.

“Lorel!” Omera greets. “We have our next shipment.”

“Wonderful! Have your boys unload it and we’ll talk numbers inside,” she puts her hand on the small of Omera’s back to usher her into the hut.

As Omera goes to follow, and she casts a look over her shoulder to Din on her way. She’s not asking for his permission, but to make sure that he doesn’t want to come with her instead of staying with the children. He nods in response and she turns back around, ready to talk business.

The conversation is pretty short, in the end, especially with Omera not willing to accept any number other than the one they had originally been promised. When the women re-emerge, Din and Havi had just finished reloading the empty barrels from the last shipment.

“Hey,” Winta slinks to his side. “Can we go window shop while you and Mom tie things up here?”

Din glances at Omera who is deep in conversation with Lorel. “I don’t see why not.”

“Thanks,” she gives him a quick peck on the cheek and scurries off with Havi. Din, in turn, tries to keep himself busy by checking the gauges. He doesn’t mean to, but he hears just the tail end of the women’s conversation.

“Omera, you are truly blessed. You and your husband have a beautiful family.”

Din nearly falls over.

“Yes, we do,” she grins and looks in his direction.

He’s panicking. His chest feels tight and his left arm is numb. He’s clearly having a heart attack. How could he have been so blind? Of course, she would want to be married, that is the natural next step. No, instead he just disappointed her by never being bright enough to put two and two together.

“Din?” Omera is standing at the washroom door, worry all over her face.

He hadn’t realized, but he is gripping the sink with white knuckles, staring blankly down the drain.

“Are you alright?” She asks hesitantly.

He nods and brushes past her to the bedroom. She follows behind him and watches as he performs his nighttime ritual of making the bed.

Only when they are in said bed, with the lights off does he speak. “Lorel called me your husband today.”

“Mhm.”

“And so did you a couple weeks ago.”

He feels her tense beside him, but he doesn’t say anything. The silence between them is thick and feels longer than it probably is when he finally breaks down and asks, “Do you – would you…” he takes a deep breath and tries to collect his words. “Is that something you would want?”

She stills. “I want whatever you are willing to give.”

“That doesn’t really answer the question.”

She chuckles and this time answers more confidently. “As far as I am concerned, we are already married. Our souls are united as one, the fibers of our existence already so entangled that there is no hope for separation,” she takes a breath. “While you aren’t my husband in name… You are already in every way that really matters.”

Tears prickle his eyes and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She sighs and leans into his touch. His mind is made up. He’s going to marry her.


	22. Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din needs a bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my wonderful and beautiful friend @plainrea. I hope this checks all your boxes!

Winta is really good at convincing him to go on quests with her. It’s not like it takes much convincing; yet when Din finds himself following the teenager through the forest on a muggy summer day, he tells himself that he needs to grow a stronger back bone.

“What exactly are we looking for again?” Din asks, pushing his sweaty locks from his eyes. He makes a mental note to have Omera cut his hair soon.

“A red berry with two blue leaves and one green one,” she clarifies.

_Red berry, two blue leaves, one green one_. He trails behind her looking at various bushes. The forest is mostly green, so in theory, red should be easy to spot, right?

Wrong. The sun is high in the sky and neither of them have found a single red berry. The hope was to find berries and have Omera make a delicious cobbler this week while she has kitchen duty. Din – much to his dismay – has found that his one, true weakness in life is Omera’s cobbler.

Sometimes, when he is reflecting back on his life, he thinks of it as _before_ and _after_. In the _before_ he ate to survive and sometimes still forgot. Of course, he cooked for his son, but sometimes he didn’t have enough to feed them both. In the _after_ he eats far too often and finds that he _enjoys_ it. He has never tasted anything as spectacular as Omera’s cobbler _and_ the fact that he gets to eat it while laughing with his family is something he never thought he would experience.

“I think maybe we should split up, cover more ground,” Din comments as Winta leans back, relishing the coolness of their shady spot.

“You just want to get rid of me,” she retorts.

He looks over at her, “And lose your incessant chatter? No, I would never.”

She laughs. “You asked me how Havi was doing.”

He did. All jokes aside, he loves listening to Winta talk about her life, which seems to have become so intertwined with Havi’s that one simple question leads to a two-hour long, one-sided conversation about them. He finally applied to pilot’s school and when the new quarter begins, she will be assistant teaching in the schoolhouse. They are becoming fully functioning adults and he tries to push down the bittersweet sadness that comes with watching a youngling take flight.

She looks up at the sky, “It’s about one o’clock. Split up?”

He nods. “Meet you back here around four if we don’t find anything?”

She agrees and they set off.

_Red berry, two blue leaves, one green one._

It’s a miracle. Right there, before his eyes, is this blasted berry they’ve been looking for. “Winta!” He calls, she can’t have gotten far. He starts plucking the berries when he hears a hiss from inside of the bush. His heart hammers in his chest and, praying that it is just another cat, he pushes the branches aside.

It is not a cat.

“What?” She barrels through the trees.

Din braces himself, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as the skunk turns and sprays him. It scurries off, clearly more afraid of the humans than they are of him, but the damage is already done.

Winta slaps her hands over her nose and mouth. “ _Stars_! That is _awful_!”

Din stands there, utterly defeated. The odor is enough to make him weak in the knees. He has no comment. He has no thoughts about this. It stinks, quite literally, and he wants nothing more than to rewind time and check the bush before he called for Winta. “Yeah,” is all he says.

“At least you found the berries?” She asks, still not removing her pinched fingers from her nose.

He glares at her and a giggle bursts from her chest. “You’re seriously going to need a bath… and you’ll probably have to sleep out in the barn for a couple nights. You _reek_.”

“This is all your fault,” he mutters.

“My fault? You agreed to come with me, old man.”

He sighs. Well, at least he can’t say that going on quests with Winta is ever boring.

Back in the village, Winta carries a pack of berries and another bag filled with a bunch of herbs she had collected on their way back. She keeps a wide berth because, _dang_ , she has never smelt anything so terrible. He smells like rotting garbage and death and a night spent on the toilet after violent food poisoning.

When they get back to the barn, Winta quickly fills up a tub with warm water and tosses in the herbs. Still pinching her nose, she turns to him and says, “Keep all your clothes on and get in. I’ll be right back.”

Grumbling he gets into the tub and waits. She bounds in carrying a sack of what appears to be tomatoes and a pin squeezing her nose shut. “What’s that for?” He asks.

“I don’t want to smell you,” she retorts.

With a sigh, he rolls his eyes. “Not the pin, the tomatoes.”

“Well we got to get rid of the smell somehow.”

“I thought that’s what the herbs were for.”

“Well they say that tomatoes help.”

“They say?” His stomach drops. “Who says?”

“You know… _they_ … an old wives’ tale.”

He groans. The last time he trusted Winta blindly, he ended up with about 20 bee stings and a lecture on not stealing honey.

“Just trust me,” she grins.

“Okay fine,” he grumbles, and she smashes the tomato over his head. She is probably having too much fun, smashing more tomatoes over him, but he can’t bring himself to care. An adventure is an adventure is an adventure…

Just then, exactly what he was hoping wouldn’t happen, happens. Omera walks in and immediately slaps her slender hands over her mouth and nose. “Oh my stars, what happened here?”

“Dad got skunked,” Winta explains, her voice nasally from the clip.

“Oh my,” Omera waves one of her hands as if it is going to dissipate the smell. “I’ll set some blankets out here for you, love… You probably shouldn’t sleep in the house tonight.”

“That bad?” He asks.

“Yes,” both women answer.

He wants to be disgruntled, upset that he has been banished to the barn, but he can’t. He just laughs. Life is absolutely and positively ridiculous, but it’s also beautiful and wonderful and _good_.

Plus, he will still get some cobbler out of the whole incident.


	23. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never stand close to the edge.

Normally, Winta wouldn’t consider herself a particularly _chatty_ person. However, when her dad told her no talking, she suddenly has a thousand stories to tell him. In front of her, he crouches and examines a bush.

“Whatcha looking at?” she asks.

His head snaps to her, his eyebrows crinkled with a silent admonishment.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“This branch is snapped, something passed through here recently,” he murmurs, his voice so soft that she barely registers his explanation.

“So, critter?”

He nods, a smirk twisting at his lips. “So, critter.”

They move forward. Her dad is heavily focused on the ground in front of them, scanning for what she assumes – but honestly why else would he be looking so pointedly at his feet? – are tracks. She pays attention when he stops and takes note of something, like a print in the mud – and there is _a lot_ of mud with the recent three-day torrential downpour – and mentally takes notes. She’s not certain if she will ever need to go hunting herself, but she figures it’s probably a good skill to have nonetheless.

He straightens to his full height and lets out a huff. “It’s a dead end,” he announces at full volume, causing her to flinch.

“What do you mean?” she asks from behind him, not bothering to hush her voice either.

He simply points to the drop off. It’s not a severe drop off, but it’s a pretty steep hill that he clearly does not seem keen to climb down, or back up with a dead animal. Winta brushes past him and stands on a rock to peer down.

“I don’t know, it doesn’t look to bad. Might be something down there,” she offers.

“Not worth it. It’s already getting late, we’ll just turn back and get a fresh start tomorrow morning,” he concludes. He shifts his weight uncomfortably for a second and adds, “Come off the edge, you’re making me nervous.”

“What, scared I’m gonna fall?” She puts her hands on her hips and doesn’t move.

“I’m being serious, come on,” he nods his head in the direction from whence they came, and she sighs.

That’s when the rock she is standing on begins to slip. Her eyes go as wide as the two Sorgan moons. Din sees what is happening and when he reaches for her, he manages to grab some of the fabric of her dress.

The fabric rips and she falls.

She squeals – she doesn’t mean to, but it currently feels like her heart is in her throat and her stomach is where her heart should be. She hits the ground, but the mud gives, causing her landing to be softer than she expects. She rolls, the world spinning around her. Ground. Trees. Sky. Over and over until she hits her head, and everything goes dark.

It takes every ounce of his self-control to not throw himself down the hill after her. He hesitates at the top, fabric of her green smock in hand and stumbles backwards. Stay away from the edge. The ground is too soft.

He was so close to catching her. If he had just been a moment faster. If he had just told her to stay away from the edge in the first place. She hit her head _hard_.

He pushes those thoughts away immediately. Now is not a time for wallowing, now is a time for action.

Gently testing the ground as he goes, he moves towards the edge of the drop off and looks down. She’s laying peacefully in a pile of leaves, blood oozing out of a gash just above her brow. From here, it doesn’t look to serious.

But from a distance a lot doesn’t look serious.

He sits down before slowly scooting his way down the hill. A few times, when the ground gives out under him and he finds himself sliding freely down the hill, he manages to catch purchase on some roots and let his heart slow down to a normal rate.

He is trying really hard not to panic.

He slides in next to her and shakes her shoulders. “Winta.” When she doesn’t respond, bile quickly rises in his throat and the world tunnels to just her face. “Winta!” He slides his finger under her nose. She’s still breathing. “WINTA!” He booms and she jerks awake.

“What?” She looks around and then moans. “Ugh. Don’t say I told you so.”

He releases the breath he had been holding and falls back.

She looks at him. “Don’t look so tense. I’m the one that just rolled down a small mountain.”

He tries to huff a laugh. He knows that she jokes to take the edge off. But he can’t. He thought she _died_. There is no greater fear than the thought of watching someone you love die and knowing there is nothing to be done. “How do you feel?” He croaks instead.

She rolls her eyes. “Like I just fell down a cliff.”

“No, I mean,” he sighs. “Injuries?”

She closes her eyes. “My head is killing me.”

“You could have a concussion. Arms? Legs?”

“My right ankle hurts a little.”

“Alright, let’s take a look,” his voice is calm and warm, the complete opposite of how she is feeling at the moment. He shuffles over to her feet and removes her right boot, eliciting a hiss of pain from her. With gentle fingers, he prods the bone and gives a quick nod. “Doesn’t look to be broken.”

“That’s good, right?”

He nods again and asks, “Do you think you can walk?”

“Yeah, help me up.”

Standing, he grabs her firmly by the forearms and pulls her up. As soon as she places her weight on her injured ankle, she yelps, “No. No. That hurts. Definitely can’t walk.”

“That’s okay.”

Her eyes widen again, and she looks up at him. “Dad. How are we gonna get home? I can’t walk. The speeder can’t…” she trails off as panic constricts her throat. She doesn’t want him to leave her in the woods by herself either.

“Hey. Don’t worry.” He takes her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Yeah.”

“Okay, now we have to find a way back home.”

“Don’t want to carry me back up the hill?” She asks.

She expects a joke, a comment about her being too fat, but he simply says, “It’s not the safest way. I’d rather us take longer getting back than us fall down the hill again.” He turns his back towards her and squats down. “Come on.”

She stares at him.

He looks over his shoulder. “Winta.”

She snaps out of it and takes up his shoulders. He is firm and warm just like always. “Are you sure?” She asks him.

He nods, and then on second thought adds, “Yes.”

Pressing down on his shoulders she jumps with her uninjured leg and lands, rather ungracefully, on his back.

With a grunt, he catches her and quickly readjusts without losing balance.

“This isn’t very ergonomic. You’re going to hurt your back,” Winta grumbles.

“I’ll be okay,” he grunts.

She adjusts her grip around his neck, trying not to strangle him, but also trying to do more work so that he doesn’t exert himself. He grips the backs of her knees and they begin their trek around the hill.

The sun is beginning to set, and they just managed to get up the hill in a less steep area, but they are nowhere near the path. They are so far away from the path, that Winta has absolutely no idea where they are or how to get back. Her dad stops walking and slowly straightens, causing her to slide easily from his back. “What are we doing?”

“We’re losing the light. We need to set up for the night and we’ll get a fresh start first thing tomorrow.”

Limping over to the tree, she settles between two of its raised-up roots. “Mom’s going to be worried sick.”

He hums in agreement and begins pacing around the area picking up various sticks and leaves. Not much of it is dry, but some of it is, which should be enough to get a fire started. Winta watches him as he strikes up a small, and very smoky, fire. “How’s your head?” He asks once the flames catch.

“Okay. It still hurts, but it doesn’t feel like an internal hurt, ya know?”

He nods. He knows all too well the difference between a concussion and a lump.

The silence that settles between them doesn’t last long when Winta mumbles. “I’m really hungry. Do we have any snacks left?”

Din opens the pack and shakes his head. “No, doesn’t look like it.”

“Oh,” she slumps down.

Din hadn’t even felt his own hunger until Winta mentioned it. Now with that thought rudely making itself known, he feels the oh too familiar pang of an empty stomach. He knows for a fact, though, that he could easily last until tomorrow without eating. Hunger isn’t a pain that really bothers him. There have been several times in his life where he didn’t have enough money to eat and simply went without. It occurs to him, in this moment, that Winta has never known this feeling. She was raised in a quiet, peaceful village where there were three meals a day, almost always at the same time.

He eases himself up and Winta stirs. “What are you doing?”

“Going to try and…” What was he going to do? Pick berries? They had no luck hunting earlier today and he doubts their luck has improved.

“If you’re picking berries,” Winta begins, as if reading his mind. “The dark purple ones are the most common. They grow on small shrubs, shorter than where your knees are.”

He nods once and hands her a rifle. “I’ll be back.”

A plead for him to stay is immediately on her lips, but she clenches her jaw and nods instead. She can do this. Alone in the woods? At night? No big deal. She’s an adult after all. She helps teach kids every day. Nothing is scarier than a room full of children just after lunch.

Right?

Omera sits on the porch of her home, arms folded tightly across her chest and her heart racing in her throat. It’s well past dinner and they still aren’t back. They had promised a quick hunting trip. After being trapped in the house for three days while it rained, both of them were a little stir crazy. Omera practically shooed them out of the house once the weather broke.

Din might not be Winta’s biological father, but _stars,_ he might as well be. Both he and their daughter _hate_ being cooped up. They had taken to throwing a ball back and forth across the house and over top her while she tried to get some sewing done. It was fun for _maybe_ the first hour.

By day three she was homicidal.

Now, she is a bundle of nerves. She has absolute faith that Din has whatever situation under control. The problem isn’t him though, it is her daughter. She is headstrong, and sarcastic, and sometimes just doesn’t listen. Omera just hopes that Winta didn’t get them into any trouble like she normally does.

A twig snaps. Winta, for about the past _lifetime_ – she’s not actually sure how much time has passed – has been flinching at every sound of the forest, but that twig snap sounded dangerously close. She shoulders her rifle, checks the safety, and settles into the tree trunk.

“Winta?” Din calls as he emerges out of the brush.

She lets out a sigh of relief, “Thank the _stars_ I thought you were a wildcat.”

“I didn’t find much,” he says as an apology and slowly lowers himself to his knees with a small groan. His joints crack and pop on his way down and he reveals a handful of dark purple berries.

Winta doesn’t say anything, mostly because for once she isn’t certain what to say. There is clearly not enough to feed them both.

“I’m not hungry,” he says and offers her the entirety of his findings.

“You aren’t?”

He shakes his head and sits back against the tree next to her.

She knows that he is definitely hungry, but she also knows not to press the issue. If her dad is anything in the galaxy, he is selfless. Of course he would make her eat the berries. That’s just what he does. Settling in after her snack, she leans on his shoulder and mumbles. “You should tell me a story.”

He is silent for a second and huffs. “What kind of story?”

“I don’t know. One from your adventures.”

“Once upon a time, I went after a bounty. I turned in the bounty. I got paid.”

She groans and settles further. “You’re no fun.”

He can hear the sleep in her voice, so he decides to try again. When his son was little, he used to talk him to sleep because, let’s be honest, his singing voice would keep any living thing awake and writhing in agony. “Okay. Once upon a time, I rescued this kid. I didn’t think he would mean much to me, but he did. And one day, we flew to a backwater planet where I met a very lovely family…” he trails off and ducks his head to see that her eyes have already fluttered shut and her breathing has evened out. “And I finally found something worth living for.”

Omera rises in the morning, slowly, reaching over in her bed to where Din sleeps only to find it empty. They still aren’t home. She sits bolt upright and leaps out of bed. This isn’t good, there is a familiar twist in her gut that comes with something bad happening. She just doesn’t know what. She dresses haphazardly and hears a commotion out by the edge of the ponds.

“Someone go get Omera!”

Her heart sinks as she flies out of her home and down the steps. Walking through the villagers, covered in mud, is her little family. Din is hunched over slightly and Winta is hanging from his back, head rested on his shoulder. She wants to cry out their names, but all that comes out is a hoarse croak as she sprints and throws her arms around them. “I was worried sick about you!” She chastises lightly.

“Well, Winta decided to take a tumble down a mountain so I had to carry her back. We didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Take a what?” She shakes her head. “You know what. I’m just happy you’re back. Let’s get you both home and cleaned up.”

Later, Omera brings them both food from the long hall so that they can eat in the comfort of their own home. Winta has suffered a pretty bad sprain to her ankle and her head required one small stitch, but she is otherwise unharmed. Din, on the other hand, cannot straighten his back and his knees are howling with the fatigue of carrying another person around. They are both laying on the floor in the front room, wallowing in their own injuries.

“Have you ever played rock, paper, scissors?” Din asks suddenly, turning his head to look at Winta.

“Don’t think so.”

He quickly explains the premise to her, and she nods slowly.

“So what’s the point?” She asks.

“I’m bored. I’m sure you’re bored.”

“I don’t know, old man; you’re pretty beat up. I don’t know if you could take another beating.”

“Says the girl who fell down a cliff, sprained her ankle, and cracked her head open.”

“You know what, with that I kind of attitude I will _gladly_ kick your ass at some pebbles, paper, and scissors.”

“ _Rock_. Rock, paper, scissors.”

“Yeah whatever. Best two out of three?”

“You’re on.”

As game quickly dissolves into a competition, Omera takes them in. They’re honestly pathetic. Laying on their backs, sprawled out, their hands held above their faces for the other to see as they play. Winta shouts that she won, beating him with rock in their final round, and he playfully swats her hand down causing her to bop herself in the nose.

“Not fair!” She shouts.

“What’re you going to do about it?” He chuckles and she’s up trying to pin him down.

_Stars_ , she loves her family more than anything, but if they break her coffee table, they’re both sleeping in the barn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your continued love and support! <3 I love all the comments and kudos!! Y'all keep me going <3


	24. Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winta tries Din's reflexes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the one and only @plainrea who sent me prompt "Laughter". I hope this is as good as dark chocolate raspberry cheesecake ;)

Holding her breath, Winta creeps through the hut. Her mother is helping one of the villagers give birth, which means it is just her and her dad tonight. Which means he is currently in their bedroom, making the bed, assuming no one else will be entering.

He would be wrong of this assumption, though.

She adjusts her grip on her pillow and avoids the squeaky spots in the floorboards. She knows this dance now; she’s been practicing. Sneaking out at night to make out with Havi in the woods is much harder to do with an ex-bounty hunter father, but she has managed. Now, she has the invaluable knowledge of where all the squeaky spots are. Invaluable knowledge, that she plans on using, right now –

She leaps into the bedroom and smacks him on the back of his shoulder with the pillow.

His shoulders scrunch up to his ears as he whirls around. Upon seeing that it’s only Winta, his expression relaxes and then he asks incredulously, “Did you just hit me with a pillow?”

“And you call yourself a bounty hunter!”

“ _Ex_ -bounty hunter,” he clarifies.

“Either way, I suspect I can fully beat you in a pillow fight,” she adjusts her grip once again, brandishing her ‘weapon’ as if it is something to be feared.

“Is that so?” He slowly moves to grab a pillow off his crisply made bed.

“Come on, old man. Show me whatcha got.”

She is not ready.

He comes at her with dizzying speed, landing a hit on her shoulder, all while simultaneously disarming her. Holding both pillows, he taunts, “Care to reconsider?”

“You know you’re pretty cocky, old man.”

“Says the girl with no pillow to defend herself with,” he lunges again, swinging both pillows at her. She stumbles further into the room, hands up in self defense and squealing with laughter.

“No!” She shrieks, as the pillows come down on her once again. She leaps up onto the bed and laughs again. “Ha! I have the high ground!”

“That’s never stopped me before.”

“Oh?” She snatches up her mom’s pillow and brandishes it. “If you want your victory come and get it!”

Mischief glints in his eyes as he swats his pillows at her knees and jumps up onto the bed.

As Omera emerges from Aurin and Tycho’s hut, who are now proud parents of a bouncing baby girl, laughter can be heard from her hut all the way across the village. Life is so, incredibly beautiful that way. Walking through the ponds, the water seems to shine brighter under the moonlight, the air seems warmer, the breeze gentler. She hears Winta squeal with laughter and underneath her loud giggles, there is the soft tenor of Din’s chuckle. A sound so rare, that she begins to rush to see what has them both in a fit.

She keeps her steps quiet as she ascends the steps into their home and, pulling back the curtain, she quietly peers into the bedroom from where the chords of laughter are ringing.

“No! Let me go!” She squeals. They are standing on top of the bed, which had clearly just been made, and Din has her in a – light – headlock, ruffling her hair mercilessly.

“Surrender!” He’s laughing, squirming to keep the thrashing girl in his grasp.

“Never!”

“What do we have here?” Omera laughs, leaning against the doorframe.

They fall apart, Winta smoothing her hair and Din looking mildly ashamed for having had their daughter in a headlock. “A pillow fight,” he answers, a smirk cracking his scolded-puppy look as he steps down from the bed.

Following suit, Winta looks over at her father. Out of the corner of his eye, he tosses a glance to her.

 _Uh oh_ , Omera steps back. The two of them look like cats that just found a mouse trapped in a corner.

Winta tosses a pillow to her, while she and Din reclaim their pillows. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” She offers to her father.

He nods in agreement, “We can bring you in warm, or we can bring you in cold, love.” The playful smile still hasn't left his face, and she can hear the laughter in his voice. 

Omera grins cheekily. “You’ll have to catch me first!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks! I know there are some prompts deep in the comments, but if you have an idea - please send it my way, I promise I'll get to it. 
> 
> Also, don't think I've forgotten about our future #mandomera wedding. That, my friends, is in the works ;)


	25. Permission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din has to ask Winta a question.

The decision to marry Omera should have been easy and done long ago, but it was not. Well, the decision to marry her had been easy; loving her is as easy as breathing, as sure as a blaster in his hand, and as soft as the early morning breeze through the tall grass. The decision itself though, probably should have came much sooner. He should have arrived on Sorgan, fell to his knees, and vowed his life to her, vowing to honor her until the day he died and well into the afterlife.

But he didn’t.

Which is probably for the best, in hindsight, because now he realizes there is something so much more important that he must do before he asks to make such a vow.

He needs Winta’s permission.

Some may find the idea completely ridiculous, him asking his daughter for permission to marry her mother, but to him, it’s necessary. He only recently became her adoptive father and while he is fairly certain her answer will be yes, he still needs to make sure.

The only problem is that Winta is _never_ alone.

If she isn’t out in the ponds with her mother, then she is laying in a field of tall grass with Havi, and if she isn’t with either of them, she is in the schoolhouse leading a lesson in pond biology.

He would ask her to go out hunting with him, but every time they step out on a quest, something always seems to happen, someone gets attacked by bees, a skunk or otherwise, or – most recently – someone falls down a cliff. He isn’t quite ready to ask her for her mother’s hand only to fend off some sort of creature or natural disaster.

No, he needs to ask her in the peaceful setting of their village.

But how?

He has thought about brazenly walking up and asking to talk to her alone, but that would just alert Omera or spook the children. Havi might ask if he could help with whatever serious issue is at hand and…

Din forces himself to take a deep breath before his train of thought derails into all the possible worst-case scenarios that could happen. Like Winta saying no, or Omera finding out, or Omera finding out and declining his offer –

_Stop it_ , he chastises himself and, probably more forcefully than necessary, slams the lid down on the barrel he was checking.

“What did the barrel do to you?” Winta asks, leaning up against it, hand on her hip.

“Don’t ask,” he answers.

She nods slowly and he is just about to ask her if they can talk when Omera slides up. “How are my loves doing this fine morning?” she asks.

“Good, Nora wants me to lead another lesson today about krill life cycles. I’m pretty excited,” Winta bounces on the balls of her feet.

“Din, are you alright? You look like you have a lot on your mind,” Omera gently rests her hand on his upper arm, and he leans into her touch, drawn into her ever present warmth.

“The spotckha barrel offended him. You should have seen how he slammed the lid a few minutes ago,” Winta explains.

Din rolls his eyes. “I’m just thinking about how much I love you both.” It isn’t far from the truth, really. He still hasn’t mastered the skill of lying to Omera, not that he has much reason to, but her uncanny ability to read his facial expressions can be… inconvenient at times.

“Oh?” Omera smiles – the kind of smile that radiates and crinkles the corners of her eyes.

He nods, suddenly struck speechless by her beauty. The morning light has caught her warm eyes, revealing hues of honey and amber, and the streaks of grey in her hair glisten like smears of stars in hyperspace.

Winta makes a fake gagging sound. “You both gross me out,” she comments as she walks off.

Rising up on her tip toes, Omera presses a gentle kiss on Din’s cheek. “I love you,” she murmurs against the scar on his jawbone.

He exhales, trying to catch his breath. With her mouth so close, he just wants to sweep her up and take her somewhere he can kiss her like he means it. Before he can gather his thoughts, she’s sauntering away, hips swaying, tossing a wink over her shoulder.

He has to lean against the barrel to keep himself from keeling over. Oh, he loves her, he loves her so much. And he _really_ loves the way her hips sway like that when she walks off.

He shakes his head and tries to focus on his task at hand for the day.

It’s around lunch time, which means Winta will be leading the children over to the long hall for lunch and supervising them for recess before they go back to the schoolhouse and finish up their lessons. The plan here is to try and get her alone in that transitionary period during recess. The kids will be occupied, Havi won’t bother her while she is teaching and Omera is normally off helping in the kitchen at this time.

It’ll be perfect.

True to the plan that no one knows but him, Winta comes out leading the brood of children to the long hall. They’re jumping around, giggling and, in general, acting as kids should. They are simply happy and Din can’t help but crack a smile while watching them.

He lurks around the long hall and once all the children are happily fed, they run off to play for a while. Seizing the opportunity, Din swiftly moves over to Winta and asks, “How is teaching going?”

“Well enough I suppose,” she sighs. “I love them all as if they were my own. Is that normal?”

He looks at her.

“What?”

“You’re asking the man who kidnapped a small, green alien child, raised him and loved him as his own if it’s okay to get attached to kids who aren’t biologically _your_ own?”

Winta cocks her head and sighs. “Point taken.”

“Hey, I uh –” he looks down at his boots.

“What?” She tilts her head to try and catch his eye.

“Um. I –”

“Miss Winta! Miss Winta! Kae pushed Waylan and now they’re fighting!” A little girl with pigtails runs up and grabs Winta’s arm and pulls her away.

“Duty calls,” she smiles at her dad.

“Of course, go take care of the kids.”

With a nod, she follows one of her students and Din huffs before going to grab some lunch himself.

He is coming to the realization that his goal for the day is going to go uncompleted. Try as he might, Winta is an incredibly popular person and is nearly impossible to catch alone. After dinner, where he and his family sit happily at their table, eating in comfortable silence, he goes into the barn. He has no particular reason for going in there, per say. He has no filters to fix, no weapons to clean, he simply needs a moment by himself. Today has been stressful. All he wanted to do is ask Winta for her permission and had continually psyched himself up to do so – only to not be able to, which has left himself feeling drained.

So, he stands at his tool bench, reorganizing his already organized tools, trying to clear his racing mind.

“Knock knock,” Winta calls from the door and he turns to face her.

“Hey, everything okay?” He asks.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” she smiles tenderly – a smile he has seen her mother wear on several occasions.

“I’m alright,” he nods and moves to sit with her on one of the crates.

“Did you want to talk to me about something? I feel like you tried to catch me alone a couple times today and I was just so busy. Teaching is so much more than I thought it would be, but I love it. Ya know?”

He nods, worrying his bottom lip.

“So… What did you want to talk about?”

For a split second he considers saying ‘nothing’. He considers backing out and pretending that today never happened and starting fresh in the morning. But he was a Mandalorian, he shouldn’t give up simply because he is a little scared of being turned down. Okay, maybe a little more than a _little_ scared.

He clears his throat, “It’s about me and your mom.”

Winta’s eyes widen and she begins wringing her smock between her hands. “What about you and mom?” Her voice cracks.

“I uh… we…” he shifts and tries to collect his thoughts.

He takes a deep breath – he has rehearsed this a thousand times in his head, he can _do_ this – and is getting ready to blurt it out, when she asks, “You guys aren’t breaking up, are you?” Her eyes are glistening with tears. “I… I know I tease you both a lot, you especially. I’ll stop, please just… You make her so happy.”

The tears spill over, and panic flares in Din’s stomach. “No! No Winta! We’re not. No,” he pulls her into a hug.

“What then?” She sniffles.

He moves her out of their embrace so he can look her in the eye. Keeping his hands on her shoulders he sucks in a deep breath. “I want to marry your mom. I want… I _need_ your blessing. I couldn’t move forward with this if it isn’t something you want.”

The tears dry instantly, and she beams. “Of course! I mean, you’re already my dad.”

He lets out a nervous laugh and pulls her into a hug. They are silent for a moment and she pulls away. “I have only one condition though.”

“Anything,” he responds.

“I get to help you.”

He grins. “I would have asked you anyway. You know I’m… clueless.”

She scoffs, “That’s putting it mildly.”

He pulls her into another hug, and she settles her head under his chin.

“Winta, thank you.”

“Dad, I love you. Momma’s going to be so excited.”

He squeezes her tighter and butterflies stir in his stomach. He is still so amazed at how lucky he is. Finally, he is going to ask Omera to marry him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm building up to a mandomera wedding! It's possibly the hardest thing I've ever written because I want it to be PERFECT. Thanks for reading! <3


	26. Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din finally pops the question

“So,” Winta comments, plopping into the pond next to Din. “When are you asking her?”

Immediately, he tenses. His shoulders shoot up to his ears and he whips his head to the side, “Would you keep it down? I don’t think the whole village heard you.”

She rolls her eyes and stage whispers, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were being _secretive_ about this.”

“I would like it to be a surprise, yes,” he hisses.

“So, when are you asking?”

“I don’t know yet… I’m still… planning,” he shucks the water out of the basket of krill he just scooped up.

“What do you have to plan? Just take her on a picnic and ask her to marry you,” Winta looks over her shoulder as she says this to make sure that no villagers are listening.

“I don’t know, stuff.”

“Sounds a lot like stalling. Are you getting cold feet?”

He shakes his head.

“Then what is it? You _asked_ me to help you.”

“I don’t!” He exclaims and catches himself, bringing his tone down lower. “I don’t have anything to give her.”

Winta arches an eyebrow. “You don’t have anything to _give_ her?”

He nods. “Some cultures, you know provide something, like a ring or something.”

“Did Mandalorians do this?”

He shakes his head, “No… our wedding affairs were quite private.”

Winta nods once, slowly. “Dad, are you seriously putting this off because you don’t have anything to give her?”

He looks at his daughter sheepishly. “What if I am?”

Winta sighs. “You now mom isn’t one for… flowery things. She wouldn’t wear jewelry even if you bought it. All she wants is you, she wouldn’t ask for anything else.” Din thinks she has finally stopped her rant when she finishes with, “And you’re an idiot for thinking she requires some sort of grand gesture. You could walk up to her and casually ask, and she would cry tears of joy.”

Din takes a deep breath. “Maybe, but I want to _show_ her how much she means to me.”

“Well you’re going to have to think of something better than a flashy band.”

He huffs. She’s right. “So what do you propose I do?”

“ _Propose_ ,” she shoves him a little.

Winta’s suggestion was absolutely no help whatsoever. Of course he should propose, that is the idea – the problem is _how_. Omera is a simple woman, and he knows Winta was right when she said that her mother didn’t need a shiny thing to be reminded of their love, the problem is that he feels as if he should still give her something. An offering of some kind. The problem is, is that the only thing he has to offer is himself.

The only thing he has to offer is himself.

_All she wants is you_. Winta’s voice echos around in his mind and he begins to wonder if he even has a brain, or if it is just an empty chamber where is lack of self confidence goes to fester.

Leaping out of the pond, he rushes over to Winta who was repairing baskets with her friend who is always having boy trouble. “Winta,” Din announces, a little out of breath from his excitement. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Her eyebrows immediately scrunch together with concern and she gets up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I think I have an idea,” he says.

“I think that’s actually a really good idea,” Winta sits upon a crate in the barn, her feet dangling, and her elbows rested upon her knees.

“Really?” He asks.

She nods. “Yeah. Humbling and gives her an out just in case she decides she doesn’t _actually_ want to spend the rest of her life with you.”

Din blanches.

“Dad, relax, jeez. I’m kidding.”

“Yeah,” he huffs and runs a hand through his hair. “So will you help me put together a picnic basket?”

“You should probably ask her if she is free and willing to go on a picnic first.”

“Yeah… You’re right. I should start with that shouldn’t I?”

Winta sighs. “You need to breathe, old man. You’re making _me_ nervous.”

Din sucks in a deep breath through his nose and goes out to find Omera.

The next day, Din and Omera are walking through the woods together. He carries the picnic basket (and his rifle, because you can never be _too_ careful) even though she had protested and said that she was fully capable. He knows that she is fully capable, she is by no means a weak woman. However, he intends on treating her like a _proper_ lady today, like the Queen of Naboo.

He offers her a hand up over a fallen tree and she smiles bashfully. “What is all this for?” She asks as she waits for him to step over as well.

He shrugs and tries to squash down the way his heart is rising in his throat. They are almost to the meadow that Winta had told him about. Apparently, this particular meadow is highly romantic and is the perfect location for a long-overdue proposal.

“Well, I’m having a wonderful time… It’s nice just wandering with you. Reminds me of how the little things in life are the most beautiful.”

She threads her fingers through his and he immediately panics. His hands are sweaty, and he can’t remember the last time his hands have been _this_ sweaty. She doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she doesn’t say anything.

When they break through the tree line, Din makes a mental note to really thank Winta. The meadow is beautiful. Yellow and purple wildflowers are sprinkled throughout the landscape, yet there is a perfect barren spot for a picnic blanket.

Din spreads out said blanket, ignoring Omera’s proclamations of being able to help. No, today is not about her helping, today is… today is possibly the third most terrifying day of his life. The first was the day the Armorer deemed him a father, despite all the telltale signs that he was a terrible fit for the position at the time. The second was the day he returned to Sorgan to be with Omera and the third will be the day he, finally, decides to do something about making it permanent.

Even with him vehemently declining her help, Omera still weasels her way into unpacking the picnic basket and distributing the food between them.

“Winta helped me pack the food,” he blurts, trying to not focus on how fast his heart is racing right now.

“Yeah? So, are you saying I should be worried to eat this?” she holds the sandwich daintily between her index finger and thumb.

“No, I supervised. I think it’s safe.”

“Well as long as no kitchens were burned down in the process, we should be alright.”

They eat in silence; Omera looking like a vision of serenity, Din slowly crumbling into a basket case.

When they finish, she neatly packs everything back up into the bag and scoots closer to him. Taking up his hands, she softly asks, “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?”

This is it. He can’t not do it now. She knows. She can read him like a book. 

He swallows. “Omera, I… I don’t have much to offer you. Just myself, really. I… I’m not perfect, I still have a lot to learn about the quiet life we lead. I’m terrible at weaving, I still have nightmares… but I love you with every fiber of my being. I love you and it would be an honor if you would let me be your husband. I promise that I will give all of myself to you in every sense. I will worship you and love you and respect you until the day I die. Omera, will you marry me?” He barely gets the question out and presents her with a very pathetic ring of wicker wrapped tightly around itself.

She gasps. She looks from him to the wicker ring and back to him and his heart starts to sink. His head is spinning, and he can’t even begin to process a coherent thought, not after he just bared his entire soul to her. Faintly, down the echoing tunnel that is his train of thought, he hears her say, “Yes.”

“What?” He asks, snapping out of it.

Tears are streaming down her face as she beams, and she repeats herself. “Yes, yes I will marry you.”

He exhales sharply in relief. He has always prided himself on his steady hands, it’s one of the many things that makes him an excellent marksman, but as he slides the pathetic wicker ring on her finger, he nearly drops it because his hands are shaking so severely.

Once the ring is secure, he stays a minute, just holding her hands, not looking at her. _Finally_ , he breathes.

Then, in the second he takes to calm himself, Omera throws her arms around his neck, and they tumble backward. Her dark hair falls around their faces, shielding them from the outside world.

“Din Djarin, I love you,” she murmurs.

He beams and wipes a tear track away from her face. “I love you too.” The rest of what he was going to say, about how she makes him the happiest man in the galaxy, about how he is blessed beyond all the stars and moons to have her and Winta, about how hopes that he will only live up to any expectations she may have for a husband are quickly swallowed by her full lips. So, he shows her instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!! I hope the proposal was everything you had been anticipating! It was honestly the HARDEST chapter I have ever written for this, so I hope it read well! <3 <3


	27. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omera asks why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a prompt received from asunachinadoll like... forever ago that I never posted. So sorry I'm so forgetful! 
> 
> Also I've been super stumped with this fic because of the #mandomera wedding, but I promise I haven't forgotten about it! <3

With their hands intertwined, she eyes the woven band on her finger. “Why did you choose me?” She whispers. The question slips out of her mouth before she can even consider the implications. She doesn’t want him to think that she is having second thoughts, or that he is having second thoughts, or that it was a bad decision. 

As expected, his head snaps to her with such a look of incredulity, that it nearly breaks her heart right then in there. “W-what?” He sputters. 

“Nothing,” she shakes her head. 

“No,” he cups her chin, gently forcing her to look at him. “Did you ask me why I  _ chose _ you?”

Bashfully, she nods. 

He releases her chin and takes her hands up in his. He keeps his head pointed down as he gently rubs his thumbs over her knuckles. 

“It’s just…” she trails off. She can’t justify this question. Not really. He chose her a year ago, and she’s just now asking. But really, a small, self-conscious part of her had always wanted to know. He has traveled all across the galaxy, has met creatures – women – from all walks of life. Why her – a plain, unimpressive, krill-farmer from a real backwater skughole? Why was she able to claim his heart when no other woman could? 

“Because…” his voice cracks and he clears his throat. “You accept me.”

Now  _ she  _ is baffled. “What?”

He looks up at her, and his deep brown eyes bore into hers. His love for her is painted on his face as clear as day. “You… accept me… as I am.”

She waits for him to elaborate as he looks back down at her hands. “You… when I first came here, you accepted me as a Mandalorian. You… never pushed me or asked more of me than what I could give… and,” he clears his throat and shifts. “And now, you accept me as an old man. You take your time with me. You’re patient with my…” he struggles for a word. “Past, I guess,” he looks up and his eyes go wide as he sees the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m not… Good at this.”

“No,” she wipes her eyes. “No… I just,” she lets out a breathy chuckle at herself. 

“Are you…” he gives her hands a light squeeze. “Did you still want to?”

“Oh yes! Of course,” she brings their hands up and kisses his knuckles. “I just, I guess, I was just curious. Your life before me was full of adventure and excitement and I just… wondered why you decided to settle with me.”

“I was ready to be at peace,” he brushes his lips over her knuckles. “Being with you… It’s the most peace I’ve felt in my entire life.”

Beaming, she takes his face into her hands and presses a deep kiss onto his lips. “You make me feel more loved than I have ever felt in my life.”

“Good,” he whispers when he kisses her back. “Oh, and your blaster skills also had a role to play.”

“I knew it.”


	28. Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get hitched, y'all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank @foxlace for inspiring me to get this done!! You are amazing!!

Din stares at Winta, appalled. He has never liked being the center of attention, and what she is explaining right now sounds like his own personal hell. “What?”

“Yeah, the wedding ceremony lasts five whole days.”

She has got to be kidding. 

“Oh, and you and mom can’t see each other for the five days.”

He shakes his head, now this really does sound like hell. “What? Why?”

“It’s _tradition_ ,” she rolls her eyes. “Though, I’m not sure what the guys are going to do…” she trails off and goes back to pulling the tails off the krill. 

“Winta. I’m so confused, just explain everything to me again.”

She sighs. “So the first day of the wedding ceremony you and mom get separated. Most of the time the oldest woman houses the bride and the oldest man, the groom.” She tosses a tail into a basket. “On the first day, the women work on the family weaving, while the men work in the ponds. The second day, the women work in the ponds and the men build a new homestead. Third day, the same as the first. Fourth, the same as the second. On the fifth day, the new homestead is finished as is the family cloth. You both will stand on the steps of your new home and recite your vows, get the family cloth tied around you, smooch and bam!” She tosses another tail into a basket. “You’ll be married.”

Din’s stomach turns with nerves. “This all sounds so bad.”

“Are you chickening out?”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “It’s just, I’m pretty sure fighting an entire platoon of storm troopers would be less terrifying.”

Winta rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You get married and tell me how you feel.”

Winta blushes. “Anyway, what are you going to say in your vows?”

“What am I - _what_?” He hisses. “I have to write my own vows?”

With a smirk, Winta nods. 

He huffs and falls back against the chair. “The more you tell me, the more I want to elope.”

“You can’t, mom loves being a part of these things.”

He sighs and goes back to work. He would never deprive Omera of anything. He just… really hates attention. 

And so, it begins. They wake together on the first day, but as they walk to the long hall for breakfast, they are quickly whisked off into separate directions. The villagers are singing - a common marriage song, Din guesses - and Omera is dragged away by Nora, a village elder and schoolteacher while he is led away by Bo, another village elder and the resident ritualist. Din struggles, craning his neck to watch her go because, even after all this time, he hates being away from her. 

This week is sure to be hell. 

He settles into the ponds with a few guys who he has come to know as friends and gets to work, trying not to think of Omera, who is all he can really think about. 

All of the village women sit on the floor in a circle, hands wrapped around various strings as they begin weaving. The family cloth is a pattern created by the elders and bestowed upon the newlyweds. Most of the time, it is a combination of the two family’s patterns, but Din and Omera are special. They never had a pattern to begin with, so the elderly women are ecstatic to create a beauty from scratch. 

The younger women, Omera included since she cannot be a part of her own cloth creation, discuss wedding dress designs. 

“I don’t want anything too outlandish,” Omera comments, which is only met by the clucking of tongues by the others. Winta smirks and gives her mom a sidelong glance. 

“You need something as beautiful as you my dear,” one woman says. 

“No she needs something more beautiful!”

“Such a garment doesn’t exist, Vera!”

Omera sighs and looks to Winta, who only shrugs in response. 

That night, Din lays awake on the floor when he hears a chirp from outside the living room window. “Hey!” The voice hisses and Din sits up, looking outside. 

“Winta, what are you doing here?” he hisses, looking over his shoulder to see if Bo has been awakened by Winta’s bantha-in-china-shop-like tendencies. 

“Is that anyway to treat your valiant messenger?” She sniffs. 

“Messenger? You have a message? From your mom? What does it say? Is she alright?”

“Woah, woah, hold your eopies, old man.” From her dress pocket she pulls out a folded piece of parchment and a pen. “If you don’t take a full moon cycle to think of a response I might be able to get it to her tonight.”

He opens the note and reads it in the faint light of the moons. 

_Din,_

_I miss you. I especially miss not sleeping by your side. I wish for you a peaceful slumber._

_Ever yours,_

_Omera._

“Hold on,” he mutters. He scribbles something on the note and hands it back to his daughter. “Okay, thanks.”

She smirks. “Try to get some sleep, Bo snores.”

Right on cue, a rafter-rumbling snort shatters the peaceful quiet of the hut. 

“I’ll try,” he grouses. 

“Momma,” Winta hisses. 

Omera sits up and looks out the window. “Was he awake?”

Winta scoffs. “Even if he wasn’t you know he’s a light sleeper. It wasn’t hard to get his attention.”

“Winta, I said not to wake him. He has a long day ahead of him.”

“And so do we.”

“The note?”

“Right.” 

Winta hands her mother the note and Omera practically tears it open. 

_Omera,_

_I think today has been the longest day on Sorgan. I can’t wait to be your husband. Sweet dreams._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Din_

At her mother’s beaming smile, Winta huffs. “You two disgust me.”

“I will happily disgust you for the rest of my days then, if it means I get to know a love like this.”

Winta gags dramatically before whisking herself away to their hut. 

“Wow, Omera you have yourself quite the specimen,” Talia smiles, elbowing her slightly. Just beyond the ponds, Din and the men are building their new homestead right next to their old homestead and barn. He lifts one of the structural beams, with the help of Havi, and secures it in place. She watches with great interest as the muscles in her future husband’s back ripple and she swallows, looking down at her basket of krill. 

“Yes, he’s… something,” she says to her basket. 

“In bed,” another woman chirps and Omera turns deep red. 

“Can we not talk about this with me in earshot? Thanks,” Winta grouses, but then looks to her mother and winks. 

Thank the moons for her daughter knowing how to navigate a conversation with nosy women. 

Omera stands in front of the full sized mirror and gasps at her reflection. “Ladies, it's beautiful… I can hardly believe this is mine.”

“Well believe it, you look stunning,” Vera smiles. 

The dress, made from their finest fabric, is deep green. It is long-sleeved but hangs off of her shoulders, revealing her toned shoulders and _just_ the right amount of cleavage. The bodice is stitched with beautiful teal flowers and hugs her slender frame in a way that makes her curves look ten years younger. At her hips, the dress flares modestly and fades into an equally deep midnight blue. 

“He will hardly notice once y’all get in the bedroom,” Talia winks. 

Winta comes up and places a small, woven tiara on her head. “There,” she smiles. “Even the Queen of Naboo would be jealous.”

Din wipes the sweat from his brow and looks over to the krill ponds where he can just barely see Omera among the cluster of women. She looks to be in deep conversation with two women and Winta looks over her shoulder and winks at him. 

That… is a very worrisome sign. 

“Mr. Djarin,” Havi comes up beside him. 

“Havi,” he nods. 

“I, uh, I made something for you guys as a wedding present, and I was wondering… well, would you like to help me carry it in the house?”

“Sure.”

Following Havi to the wagon, he can’t help but gasp. It’s a gorgeous, solid wood chest with intricate, carved, swirls. “Havi, this is beautiful.”

“Thanks, uh. It’s kind of a hobby of mine.”

They carry it into the house and set it at the foot of the bed. Everything is coming together quite nicely. Members of the village have donated or made various pieces of furniture for their new home, leaving Din somewhat at a loss as to what to do with their other home. 

“Nervous?” Havi asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

He wasn’t, until he realizes that _tomorrow_ is the wedding and he still hasn’t written his vows. He collapses onto the bed. 

“Mr. Djarin? Sir? Are you alright?”

Swallowing thickly, Din nods. 

He is _definitely_ not alright. 

Butterflies stir in her chest as she fusses with the dress once more. Winta is wearing her best purple dress and so are Nora and Vera. Today is the day. 

“Mom, quit picking at it,” Winta clucks and fixes the woven tiara on her head, now adorned with yellow wildflowers as well. 

“I’m just a little nervous,” she whispers. 

“About what?” Winta smooths the dress and looks at her mom in the mirror. 

“I’ve never had a wedding before… What if I mess up my vows?”

Winta guffaws. “Mom. I promise once you get up there you won’t even notice.”

She nods and accepts her daughter’s tight embrace. 

Butterflies stir in his chest as he stands at the front of their new homestead with Bo, Havi, Yorrin, and Ray. Bo will be leading their ceremony today and Havi, Yorrin, and Ray are part of the groomsmen? He has no idea what that means. He just knows if he is going to be standing up here, making a right fool of himself, he would want these three watching his back. 

“You alright, old man?” Havi asks, nudging him with his elbow. 

Quickly Din glances over his wedding vows once more. “I… I think I got this.”

“You’re going to do great.”

A hush falls over the crowd as the ceremonial drums start playing. Din swallows and adjusts the collar of his navy tunic. This is it. 

Nora walks down the aisle first. Well, hobble is probably the better word for it, but her arthritis is probably getting the better of her today. Behind her is Vera, her blonde hair looking more like a halo than her usual straw-like braids. 

Then his mind goes blank. 

There she is, his beautiful, stunning, magnificent bride. Her greying locks are curled and hang delicately over her shoulders. Atop of her head is a brown, woven tiara with golden wildflowers and she holds a bouquet of the same flowers in her hands. Her dress looks like she has emerged from the ocean, a goddess among mere mortal men. 

He is so taken with Omera, that he hardly notices Winta on her arm, escorting her down the aisle with a beaming smile directed at Havi. 

Of course. 

The music stops as Omera steps up to Din. She gives Winta a tight hug and hands her bouquet off to her daughter. Before Winta takes her side by her mother, she tosses her arms around Din and whispers, “I love you.”

The crowd chuckles at the display before quickly falling silent again to listen to Bo give the opening remarks. 

“We are gathered here to celebrate the joining of our most beloved Omera and Din. Omera you’ve been here since your daughter was just a wee tot and Din, you have become a most beloved addition to our village and if I may say, our family. 

We are overjoyed that you have both decided to merge your households into one strong and indivisible homestead. Together you two will be able to live in peace. Now, before I continue to ramble on. Din… would you please share your vows?”

He hardly hears Bo say his name. All he can see is Omera. She is radiant, and he’s afraid that if he blinks he may lose this moment forever. “I, uh, sure.” He takes Omera’s hands because when he is the least sure of himself, she is always there to steady him. “Omera.” She smiles and he wants to kiss her right then and there. “ _Stars_ , I love you,” he blurts and blushes. The crowd chuckles and he can feel his blush creeping up his neck when Omera smiles and squeezes his hands. 

“I love you too,” she beams. 

“I don’t think much of myself,” he begins. “But when I’m with you, you make me want to be a better man. You… you are my everything and I can do anything with you by my side. So,” he swallows. “I vow to respect you, always. I vow to love you, unconditionally. I vow to protect you, fearlessly. I vow to be yours, truly. And above all. We will be one, even when apart. We will share everything, even when there is nothing. We will raise our children to be fearless, even when there is nothing to fear.”

Bo drapes the woven fabric over their hands and they both gasp at the beauty. “Omera, will you now share your vows?”

Her heart is racing. “Din, I would wait a thousand life times for you. I’m just happy that I get to be with you in this one,” she squeezes his hands. “I didn’t know I was missing a piece until you came and made me whole. Every day, I will wake and be grateful to have you in my life. I vow to love you everyday like it is our last. I vow to care for you when you are sick, when you are upset, and when the world is too much for you to bear. I vow to be your sword and shield. I vow to honor and protect you until my last day, and then some.” She takes a deep breath and pronounces her next words carefully just like she had with Winta that morning. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.” 

Din beams and the grip on her hands tightens. 

Bo ties the cloth around their hands and speaks the closing part of the ceremony. “Now, you will feel no rain. For each of you will be shelter for the other. Now, you will feel no cold. For each of you will be the warmth to the other. Now, there will be no more loneliness. Now you are two persons, but there is only one life before you. Go now, to your homestead, to enter into the days of your life together. And may your days be good and long.” Bo steps away. 

And with their hands bound, they walk as one person to the doorway of their new home. They only have eyes for each other as they step over the threshold. 

“Can I kiss you now?” Din whispers. 

“Yes, you--” 

The rest of her words are swallowed by his mouth and she welcomes his kiss. Her husband, her soulmate. The world fades around them as the crowd of villagers whoop and cheer. 

And they are one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things!  
> 1\. The wedding vows said by Bo at the end are Apache wedding vows, or at least that's what google says they are. Here's the link if you are interested: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/32791903513407294/?nic_v2=1a3ok2lca  
> 2\. Din's last couple vows were my translation of the mando'a vows. I wanted to make them a little prettier. Also, Omera's last lines were the non-translated version... I think. If they're incorrect - lemme know and I'll change them! 
> 
> I think that's everything. Thank you so much for reading! I have a few more updates planned, but I don't know when I'll get to posting them. If you have any ideas, of course send them my way!  
> tumblr: @amukmuk


	29. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Havi gets accepted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @foxlace and @plainrea this is for you guys! Thanks for the encouragement <33

Havi clicks refresh on the browser again and the spinning wheel keeps spinning, and spinning, and _spinning_. Their village doesn’t have good reception. At all. Even with the new tower he built and connected, a Hutt can crawl faster than the holonet loads. Normally, he would go to town and handle his holonet business, but he hasn’t had the chance to escape his daily duties. 

His stomach grumbles and, with a huff, he decides to get up and go to the long hall for breakfast and check his mail when he gets back. Maybe, just maybe, it will be finished loading by the time he is done eating. Exiting his home, he sets out for the long hall. The sun is still low in the sky, just beginning its ascent for the day, but the sky is vibrant with oranges and yellows. 

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees Winta emerge from her own home. Since Din and Omera got married, they’ve been letting her stay at their old homestead. The golden morning light catches in her hair, and illuminates auburn highlights in her hair. It is so unfair how one person can be so _beautiful_. When she sees him, she beams, and he can’t help but return the smile. He’s so in love, _stars_ , he’s so in love. 

“Good morning,” she grins, slipping her hand into his with an ease that feels like they’ve been doing it their whole life. 

“Good morning,” he bends down to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek. “How did you sleep?”

“I would have slept better next to you.”

His heart lurches in his chest. They have napped in a few wildflower fields once or twice, but the thought of being in a bed with her has his pulse quickening. But of course, this is Winta. She is about as gentle as a gundark in a china shop. He doesn’t mind though, because at least he never has to guess what she’s thinking. “Me too,” he croaks eventually. 

~

After breakfast, he slips back into his room to check the mail. The wheel is still spinning, and he begs the universe for a strong enough connection to just refresh the page. Outside, he just barely hears his mother calling his name. Oh well, there is a pond that needs to be seeded. Maybe when he gets back, just maybe, it will be loaded by then. 

He doubts it, though. 

~

He finishes re-seeding the pond in record time and as soon as he is done, he rushes back into his room. The spinning circle is no longer there, and the top line reads:

_New Republic Academy of Aviation and Space Flight_

His chest seizes and, grabbing the datapad, he sprints out of his room. 

~

Winta is standing, hip-deep in the pond, pulling weeds that interfere with the krill nests when she hears a crash and then a loud and clumsy apology. 

“Winta!” Her head snaps up and sees a lanky Havi barreling through the ponds, datapad in hand. “Winta!”

She heaves herself from the pond and braces herself when Havi nearly crashes into her. “Winta,” he wheezes, out of breath from wherever he sprinted. 

“What is it?” She scans his face. He looks like he is about to have a heart attack, or inform her that someone is having a heart attack. She starts scanning the crowd, so help her if her father is laying somewhere bleeding out--

He thrusts the datapad into her hands. “Look.”

She reads the new mail header. “Have you opened it?”

He shakes his head solemnly. “I can’t. I can’t. I don’t want to know.”

“Yes, you do, krill for brains. Open it.” She tries to thrust it back into his hands. 

He shakes his head again. “I can’t. You do it.”

Looking down at the beat-up datapad, she hesitates. She doesn’t want to be the one to tell him the bad news. But she has faith, faith that he has been accepted. Because this is _Havi_ , the boy with a pure talent that she’s never seen before. 

She opens it. 

_Havi Jervada:_

_We are pleased to inform you that you’ve been accepted into the New Republic Academy of Aviation and Space Flight..._

“Havi,” she begins. 

“I didn’t get accepted did I?” His face has already fallen. 

_We expect you to be to you to start classes in the next 6 standard weeks starting on…_

“Havi,” she rasps. She knew it, but suddenly her heart is breaking. Her best friend will be leaving her in less than six short weeks. 

“Winta? What does it say?” His hands are knotted in his hair and he is grimacing. 

She finally tears her eyes away from the data pad and looks at him. “You got accepted.”

“I – what?”

“You got accepted,” she repeats. Her best friend has been accepted. He finally gets to follow his dreams. 

He stares at her. 

“Havi, you got accepted!” She shouts, letting herself be excited for him. This is everything he has been dreaming of since they were children. 

“I got accepted?!”

“Yes!”

He picks her up and whirls her around. “I got accepted! I got accepted!” He sets her back down and now his face looks absolutely sick. “Oh _stars_ , I got accepted.”

“You’re going to do great!” She pulls him into a tight hug and he barely squeezes her back. “Havi, I mean it.” She pulls away and places firm hands on his shoulders. “You’re going to do great.”

“I… I’ve never been off planet before. This was a terrible idea.”

“Look at me,” she demands, and he does. He’s so handsome. His eyes are a deep, dark brown, and while they’ve both gotten older, his face still holds the boyish charm she loves. “You were meant to do this. You got this. You are going to go to that planet and you are going to show them just how talented a krill farmer is.”

He nods. “Okay.” He places his hands on top of hers. “Okay.”

~

At the end of the week, the village gathers around to say goodbye to Havi. He hugs each and every one of his friends and when he gets to Winta, he hesitates. There she stands, the most beautiful woman in the whole damn galaxy. Her dark hair falls on her shoulders in fluffy ringlets and when she looks up at him under her dark lashes he is certain his heart might stop beating. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hey,” she returns, a smile turning up her full lips. 

He shifts his bag on his shoulder and takes her hands in his. He runs his calloused thumbs over her knuckles. “I won’t be gone long,” he says to their hands. “Just eighteen weeks.” 

“I know,” she says. Winta is as tough as durasteel, but he can hear the faint quiver in her voice. “I’ll hardly notice that you’re gone.”

“I won’t,” he confesses, still watching their hands. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.” 

“You’ll be fine.” She sounds confident again. “Havi, look at me.” 

He does. 

“You’re going to do great. You’ll make tons of new friends and… and…” Her voice quivers. 

“I won’t forget you,” he promises and places his hands on each side of her face. Gently, he rubs his thumbs across her cheeks. “I can’t. I love you. It’s only eighteen weeks. And when I come back--” He cuts himself off, he can’t say that here or now. “I’ll come back and I will spend the rest of my life loving you. I’ll take you on adventures and we can fly anywhere you want.” 

She grins. “I’ll go anywhere with you Havi Jervada. Now get out of here, space cadet.” 

He bends down and kisses her. The crowd of villagers cheer and he breaks away. “I’ll be home before you know it.” 

She grins. “Go before you're late.” 

He pecks her on the lips once more before he turns to Din and they start walking towards the Razor Crest. 

~

Space is cold. And dry. The normal humidity of Sorgan is gone and Havi finds himself gawking out the viewport of the Razor Crest. “Wow,” he murmurs. 

“First time?” Din asks him. 

“Yeah… Yeah I’ve never been this far from home before.” 

Din clears his throat. “Nervous?”

“Petrified.” 

Din nods before turning in the pilot’s chair to look at him. “It’s okay to be nervous, just don’t let your fear blind you. You have gut instincts for a reason, follow them and you’ll be alright.” 

“I just… Even if I pass and become a pilot… I won’t have a ship.” 

Din cocks his head to the side and his brow furrows. “Sure you do.” 

Havi raises his eyebrows. 

“It, uh, it was meant to be a surprise, but I’m going to give you the Crest as a graduation present. You deserve it and I know you’ll treat her right.” 

Havi grins. “Thank you, thank you so much, Mr. Djarin.” 

“You just have to make sure you pass now.”

“Right.” His excitement is quickly swallowed up by nerves and he takes a few deep breaths. He can do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I promise we will be back to your regular scheduled mandomera programming soon! :3


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